# January 2014 - LM - Here Today, Gone Tomorrow



## Fin (Jan 1, 2014)

Click here for the workshop thread
*LITERARY MANEUVERS*​Here Today, Gone Tomorrow​



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:*

*Leyline*; *Pluralized*; *Cadence*; *Gavrushka*



*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 *LM Workshop Thread* 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:*

Tuesday, the 14th of January at 11:59 PM GMT time.
Click here for the current time.

*Good luck, everyone.*​


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## Dictarium (Jan 1, 2014)

The Man with the Magic Mind

637 Words


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## Potty (Jan 3, 2014)

*Here Today, Gone Tomorrow* by Potty.

He put the menu down to address the waiter. "I'll have the Fugu."


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## thepancreas11 (Jan 3, 2014)

An Unfortunate Circumstance (http://www.writingforums.com/thread...row-Workshop?p=1689300&viewfull=1#post1689300)

Contains mildly intense theme.  Dark Humor (hopefully).

640 words.


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## midnightpoet (Jan 5, 2014)

Executive Privilege

                                                     647 Words


Harold Davis took a sip of bubbly as he gazed over the office New Year’s party.  All the top brass were here.  Miles Jackson, the company’s aging C.E.O.  Don Peterson, the V.P. of purchasing.  Karen Glass, V.P. of accounting, rumored to be on the short list to replace Jackson.  Harold was Executive V.P., and was in line for the promotion, but Karen was young, attractive, and had M.B.A. from an Ivy League school.  He had heard rumors that she was sharing more than e-mail with Peterson, who was married.  That wouldn’t go over well with Jackson.  He needed some dirt on her, and quick.  Harold had gambling debts, and his Vegas backers were not happy and losing patience.  The only thing keeping him afloat was Wall Street.

Alice, his private secretary and confidant, brushed her hand gently down his sleeve.

“You okay, Harold?  Need a refill?”

“No, dear,” he said in a low voice.  “Have any news for me?”

“I hacked into Peterson’s computer, but I didn’t find anything.”

“What about Glass?”

“Nothing, but I’d heard Miles might be in trouble with the feds about his Wall Street ties.”

Harold shook his head.  “No, no, I’ve got my own Wall Street buddies.”

“I’ll be leaving soon,” she said.  “I will keep trying.”

Harold rang his P.I., but he had no fresh news.  Yes, Karen was seeing someone.  No, couldn’t identify the person.  He walked over to the bar.  He needed something stronger than champagne.

                                                            *     *     *

Peterson and Glass were on a couch by a window, munching on shrimp.

“You’re late, Glass.  You missed Miles’ inspiring speech.”

“I was doing some late work at the office.”

“Getting dirt on Harold?”

“Not so loud, some one might overhear.”

“No big deal, half the company knows you’re after Miles’ job.  I’m not interested, you see.  Happy where I am.”

“Liar.”

He ignored her.  The party was on the forty-second floor, which doubled as a giant board room.  Large plate glass windows allowed a panoramic view of the city, sprawled below in sparkling lights.  A live band was playing by a small dance floor.  He swallowed the last of his shrimp and washed it down with Cabernet. 

“Last night was fun,” Karen said.

Peterson coughed.

“Shut up.  I don’t think you have much to worry about, my dear.  Miles is an old lecher, and you’ve done your share of flirting with him.  You think Harold has something on you?”

“What would that be?”

“I know everything, my dear.  My fingers reach out to every tendril of the company grapevine.  You think I’ve gotten this far on my good looks?”

She gave him a look of disgust and wandered off toward the powder room.  Karen wondered if he really knew about her creative financial dealings or if he was just fishing.

“What did you get on Harold?” Karen asked as Alice entered the restroom.

“Harold’s in deep trouble,” Alice said.  “Vegas will put the squeeze on him for his gambling, but his Wall Street shenanigans will get him indicted for insider trading and fraud.  Also, Peterson has been getting kickbacks from our biggest supplier. I just sent the evidence to your computer.”

“Here today,” Karen said, grinning.

“Gone tomorrow,” Alice finished.

“I put a million in an offshore account for you,” Karen said.  “After I’m C.E.O., you’ll be my executive assistant. 

“With perks, darling,” Alice said, smiling.

They sealed the bargain with a very wet kiss.  Karen couldn’t believe the company fell for that fake M.B.A. shit, but the damn fools were so focused on getting a hot female prospect they couldn’t see past her long legs and tight ass.  Karen waited by the window until she saw Alice drive out of the parking lot across the street.  She typed some numbers into an untraceable cellular phone.  The explosion lit up the street.  No way could that bitch be trusted.


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## Staff Deployment (Jan 6, 2014)

She Said
650 words​
She was grey, but beautiful, like a moth. At 11:50 p.m. she said, "I have until midnight."

He said, "Tell me about your home." He watched her wings flutter. Dust tickled his nose. She smelled like kiwi.

"It's under your feet, in the dirt. There's only one tree in this forest, did you know? It takes the form of many trees but every trunk shares the same roots. The tree will outlast your species."

"Unless we burn it down."

"Unless you tear it from the Earth."

"And I don't doubt we will, but I knew all that already. That's why I'm here. I wanted to see the biggest plant in the world and I found you instead."

"It's not true, by the way," she said.

"What isn't?"

"There's more than one tree," she said.

"How so?"

"This morning I cut one from its roots and planted it by itself. That tree won't survive on its own, though, not without blessing. Tomorrow it will die, and I'll have to return to my home. I've tampered with deep magic to appear to you."

"Tomorrow's not very far away," he said. It was 11:52 p.m. The digital clock's little colon ":" blinked on and off with each passing second. The 2 flicked into a 3. "Why me?"

"You were there," she said. "Nothing more."

He was an old man. Compared to her, he was a baby.

She said, "Tell people about me."

"I don't know anything about you."

"I've watched this tree grow up. I've flown to every continent. I've created a thousand hurricanes, and I've stopped a thousand more. I've had twenty-five children and only one still lives. I've grown to the size of elephants and whales, and shrunk to dance with a virus. I have burned countless forests to the ground. We are defined by the things we do. Do you know why I do these things?"

"The balance of nature," he said, gravely, as if he knew the answer from the start.

"Boredom," she said. "Just boredom. A list of things to do when I'm bored. All of us do the same things, eventually, because there's enough time. We follow the rules and we get bored, and eventually we all become the same. We are defined by what we do, and we are everything. All of us."

"And ... you broke the rules?"

"I broke the rules. I'm different." As she spoke, the 3 flicked into a 4, and then a 5. "I'm different. Please."

He bit his lip. "I guess maybe you're wrong."

"I'm not wrong." Her words were indignant. Insistent.

"Maybe you are. You said you're defined by the things you do. But you're the only one who has done this, aren't you? You're the only one who broke the rules. So there must be something inside of you which is different than the rest."

"What's inside doesn't matter," she says. "What matters is that I broke the rules, not that I wanted to break the rules. We're running out of time. These minutes are dissolving into seconds." Sure enough, the digital clock read 11:56 p.m. It glowed brighter and redder as if to taunt them. Then the six slipped away and a seven took its place. 11:57 p.m.

"What would you spend them on?" he asked.

"Spend what?" she asked.

"The minutes."

"You," she said. "Because you can see me. You can smell me. You know who I am. You know that I give life and I destroy life as I please, on a whim, because I'm bored. You know that I am nature and that nature has no balance." 11:58 p.m. "You know that there are many of us, and that we follow rules, and that this isn't my true form." 11:59 p.m.

"I know," he said.

"Then help me!" she screamed. 12:00 a.m. Midnight. She was gone.

He blinked.


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## rockoo315 (Jan 6, 2014)

Dear friends, colleagues, Writingforum.com judges, and other people I do not know,

The darnest thing happened to me just last week.  And I do believe the occurence, and events leading up to it, warrant a telling.  So let's jump back to last week to a seemingly normal day that turned out to be something of a spectacle.

On a Tuesday morning, probably around 2 o'clock, I was in my early morning routine.  My 350 pound frame sat comfortably in my indentation on the recliner, which smelled of stale smoke and body odor, and faced an outdated analog television emitting an orange glow.  A single lamp attempted to light up the room, but still left the majority of the area in a somber element.  I was half asleep, my thoughts jumping between locating Waldo and my next joint, until a beautiful woman came on the screen.  My interest peaked, my left eye opening to clarify if she really was beautiful, and then I transitioned to a full state of awareness.

Alas!  My eyes did not deceive me.  The woman on the television was not only beautiful, but an individual I was already familiar with.  Cheyenne Smith was her name.  My, what a lovely name!  But I digress.  I focused on what she was saying rather than her perfect body.  She was doing a news report on cheese.  Yes, I know.  A report on cheese seemed strange.  But as I listened on, Cheyenne singled out a single brand of cheese, which turned out to be my favourite, as being a possible source for hallucinations.  And even stranger, about 20% of individuals who had hallucinations from this cheese ended up disappearing.

My curiosity and doubt shot up substantially.  Was Cheyenne telling the truth?  Was there such a thing as “magic” cheese, causing people to trip and disappear?  Should I trust her, but also verify by eating some of the cheese?  

“Oh, what the hell,” I thought.  “One bite won't hurt.  And I am hungry.”  My obesity always found a justification for eating.

I strained getting up from the chair, and make a visible effort to walk the 30 feet to the fridge.  Standing there before the fridge, breathing heavy with a few drops of sweat on my face, I slowly opened the door. 

And there it was, the magical cheese.  I picked it up, all of it still being in the package.  Slowly unwrapping the plastic, I held it up to my nostrils.  Oh, the smell was fantastic.  It stung the nostrils and made my stomach turn.  My mouth was salivating, begging and urging me to go on.  And so I took the first bite.  Slowly I chewed, treasuring the taste and the long trek that small bite took going down to my stomach.

I waited for something to happen.  Anything at all!  I must have waited 10 minutes for these hallucinations to occur.  Without a single thing happening, I put the cheese back in the fridge.  Disappointed, I took one step to the left to go back to my recliner.

Bam!  I fell flat on my face.  I instantly blacked out.

Upon waking up, I was disoriented.  I had no idea where I was.  A few seconds, or maybe a few hours, went by before regaining my bearings.  

“What the hell,” I said. 

A forest surrounded me.  This forest, however, was not any ordinary forest.  It had simple colours.  There was no wind.  I looked at my arms.  There was no hair, and my skin was a single shade of white.  And I was weaing a bizarre hunting outfit.  I was also skinny.  And the last observation was my life happened in 30 minute increments.

Yes, dear friends, I had become a fictional cartoon character.  Cheyenne's news report, titled “Here Today, Gone Tomorrow” was true!  Until next time, stay tuned.


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## Smith (Jan 8, 2014)

*Be Yourself
*(Language, Adult Themes, 642 words)​_
Well how are you this lovely morning? Come on, out of bed. Now don’t sigh. If you always stop at the start, nothing will ever have a chance to bloom! Can I make you something to eat maybe? Breakfast is, after all, the most important meal of the day._

He rolled over again and buried his face in the pillow. Deep into the comfort of a warm embrace that held him hostage, but he didn’t mind. Stockholm syndrome was a friend, it said. But that voice in his head wasn’t.

_The sun is shining, new opportunities await you ripe for the taking. Don’t be depressed. Don’t let yourself be dragged down by-_

He pulled the covers up and nestled in a little deeper, trying to block out the parasite.

_Fine. I know what you think of me. And to think, after all I’ve done for you. Why can’t you love me like you used to? Still lusting over that BITCH, that’s why!_

Words coated hot with hatred, like candle wax, suddenly followed by a cold chill. He crunched up into a ball to combat it. Everything stopped for a moment. The whirring of the fan took center-stage. For a while, that was all he could hear. But then it became louder. Slowly at first, yet then droning. And that’s when the laughing started.

_You know, it’s pretty funny. Really. Watching you pretend and lie, digging yourself into a forever deepening grave. You’re sick, and you think the FUCKING cure is her! She is the ILLNESS damnit, why can’t you see it? I’m here to help!_

“Alright, that’s it!” He ripped off the covers. “Get. The hell.” His own nails ravaged his face, his own hands tore at his hair and scalp. “Out of my head!” He yelled, and reared his head back. One dent remained in the wall as he slumped down.

---

A quick intake of breath.

“Chri- Christine… Why-” A cool knife point dug into the skin of his neck. He was face to face with her. Face to face with natural beauty that had a twist of deception behind those emerald eyes, shining from the tears dripping onto his shirt. Her lovely, red lips that held back that addictive taste and silver tongue, trembled. He moved to brush her blonde hair...

Then the room spun.

“Does something feel wrong to you?” I asked him once it’d stopped. “The masks on the walls. Are these yours?” He struggled to move. The blade threatened his jugular, held captive in the chair from behind. Momentary shock seized him as he stared at his reflection. Me. What he thought had been a demon was the real him he’d been hiding, hating, ashamed of for so long.

I reached up and took a mask from its resting place. There was a tag on it that read ‘happiness’, the porcelain object permanently crafted into a hideous smile. “You know that these aren’t you. Each day you wear one to hide me. Here one day, and then it’s gone the next, replaced by another. And she… she is wicked. A wishful thinker with the worst intentions. She’s ripping out our heart!”

Christine whispered in his ear, her honeyed voice of poison quivering. “Please, don’t listen to him. I love you. You know I love you.” I wish he could see how her face betrayed her words. He’s too blind.

I raised the mask, poised to throw it to the wooden floor. “No! Wait!” he cried.

“You’re scared, Kyle! You’re scared to die alone! To be yourself! Everyday you hide behind this facade, but you can’t live your life this way. Leave her, your case of Stockholm syndrome! It’s become an unhealthy obsession, not love! Her knife dictates your day. Take it from her! Take back control of your life!”

He grabbed her wrist.

Crimson red spilled.


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## Terry D (Jan 8, 2014)

The Cost


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## Fin (Jan 10, 2014)

*The Stride of the Scholar
Anonymous Entry*​


_I got up every day to cornflakes. I went to work. Dealt with fools. Came home. Dealt with more fools. Ate sandwiches and instant mashed potatoes. Read. Slept._

The office door was difficult to open.

_I had followed the motions set for me: diploma. Associates. Bachelors. Stock the shelves. Smile for the customers._

I knew there'd be nothing in there that my body needed.

I kicked harder.

_From time to time, I encountered people I knew in high school. Not very long ago that we had graduated. But many had thrown themselves far ahead of me. There were architects and doctors; expecting mothers and fathers._

The frame cracked. The door swung forward.

_The cheerleader everybody wanted was waiting tables. But she was engaged to one who had recently passed the BAR._

Some desks and overturned chairs. A broken window. Rising dust in the cloud-veiled sunlight.

_They all went on smiling without me._

On the floor, a cap and tassel. No bloodstains. No burns. I set my rifle on a desk, knocking down a picture of some family. I took a knee, took the cap into my hands delicately. Studied it.

_Every time I witnessed a graduation after mine, the feelings came back. The regret. All I could have done. All I could have had. And the world, even those who came after me, were shooting far ahead of me._

I set the cap on my head, set the tassel to the right side of my face. My head fell slowly. I closed my eyes. sighed.

I didn't realize how powerful the silence was until the sound of my rifle sliding from the desk in my hand rang in my ears. I stepped back out.

You would think I'd have imagined things back the way they were as I walked down that hall--- as I listened to the sound of my footsteps bounce against the dirty walls. You would think I'd have seen the smiling hearts shuffling around me. Against me. But all I saw were those dark walls and the marble floor reflecting the lights which hadn't shown in a long time.

Maybe I didn't want to see it. Maybe I wanted to see it too badly. Maybe I wanted to conjure every detail, all those faces in a clean environment, that my mind overloaded, and I was left with the darkness I had.

I was glad the place had only been lightly touched by refugees... looters, if you prefer. True, the cafeteria was emptied of food, the vending machines overturned. But I found only one instance of violence. What I gathered, a young woman was chased here. Hid. Whoever was after her killed her and took nothing. Her cell phone was clutched in her hands. She had left a message to herself. I thought about going back to retrieve the phone, find out what she had to say.

Did she deserve to be heard? Was it none of my business? ...Or did it really not matter, after all?

I kept walking.

I left my school, on the hill we scorned as children, looked over the town it used to serve. The town I used to call familiar. The pale gray ruin matched the clouds above.

Snipers were on high demand, and people learned the trade quickly. I knew I could be killed just standing here. Especially with this stupid blue cap on my head. I didn't take it off. Neither did I run or hide for cover. I stood, looking at my home. The water tower rose above it. Were this town occupied, there would have been snipers. Had there been snipers, they'd have been on that tower. Had snipers been on that tower, I'd have died before the door behind me closed. As I yet live, my town was useful to no one.

And as of this moment, neither to me.


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## OliverGrey (Jan 10, 2014)

Good Morning


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## Leyline (Jan 11, 2014)

*Judge Entry -- not for competition:*

*With Bad News Bob At The End Of An Era*
by George Potter​


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## J Anfinson (Jan 11, 2014)

We Walk Among You (629 words- Adult content)


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## Darkhorse (Jan 13, 2014)

*Grey Tomorrow. (649 words; Adult Content)*

Grey Tomorrow
(649 words; Adult Content)​

http://www.writingforums.com/thread...-Gone-Tomorrow-Workshop?p=1691379#post1691379


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## godofwine (Jan 13, 2014)

Four Quick Shots - By Godofwine (649 Words)


http://www.writingforums.com/thread...row-Workshop?p=1691452&viewfull=1#post1691452


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## ppsage (Jan 13, 2014)

*Diatribe Contra Stone*


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