# 03/10/2011 - LM - It happened in a mere moment



## Like a Fox (Oct 3, 2011)

*LITERARY MANEUVERS*
The October Challenge


A reminder of the prizes awarded to the winner of the LM.
Their entry will appear in the WF Newsletter, which is a good chance to get your work widely circulated.
Now we are also offering a Friends of WF (FoWF) subscription free for a month to the first place winner!

So, do your best.​




Another round of LM begins! 

*It happened in a mere moment
*_In 650 words, write a story where the central action takes place in a mere moment.
This is open to some interpretation. 
If you read back on page 206 of the LM Coffee Shop you can find some discussion on the matter._​





The judges for this round are as follows: *elite, bazz cargo, Anna Buttons... and me (Like a Fox)*.
(To the judges, send your scores to me via PM - and if we could aim to have them sent a week after the closing date that would be awesome.)

Now a recap of the rules:
The word limit is 650 words not including the title. If you go over - Your story will not be counted.
You can no longer edit your entry after posting. There will be a 10-minute grace period, if you want to go in there and edit a typo or something, but really, you should approach this as if you were submitting your work to be published and paid for. When you submit, that should be your final work, the work you are happy with.
And of course, there can only be one entry per member.
As always, there are two ways to post your entry:
You can opt to have your entry posted in the *LM Workshop Thread* which is a special thread just for LM entries in the Writer's Workshop. You would put your story here if you wish to protect your first rights (in case you want to someday submit the work to a magazine or whatnot). *Take note: If you have elected to put your entry in the Workshop thread you must copy the link into this thread or else it will not be counted.*

If you aren't too concerned about your first rights, then you could place your entry right here in the *LM Challenge thread*.​
Everyone is welcome to participate. Judges are welcome to participate, too, but their entries will not receive a score.

This competition will close on "Sunday the 16th of October".
To avoid confusion I will close the thread at 11:59pm (Sunday Night) LOS ANGELES, USA time.


This will make it 5:59pm on Monday the 17th for me in Melbourne Australia
It'll be 2:59pm on Monday the 17th for Fuhrer in the Phillipines 
For anyone in Baghdad it'll be 9:59am on Monday morning.
If you're in the UK (London Time) it'll be 7:59am Monday morning.
If you're in New York it'll be 2:55am Monday morning.

Daylight Savings may make me wrong here... if so, get it in an hour early to be safe!

I hope if I haven't covered your area, you guys can figure out when it'll be for you.
The world clock kind of does my head in.


*No comments, please - Only competition entries (or links to) to be posted in this thread.*


Now that all's set, let the writing begin! :smile:
​


----------



## moderan (Oct 4, 2011)

***


----------



## BabaYaga (Oct 10, 2011)

*The Moments that Made Us*

_Oh hells, this is so emo. But here goes: 

_*The Moments that Made Us *_(540 words without title) 

_Looking back on the 5 years we’ve been together, it’s easy for time to loose all definition, for it to soften and slide altogether like a fruit salad left at the back of the fridge too long. But with the precision of a surgeon, and the perseverance of the slightly obsessed, the singular, significant seconds that made up our time together _can_ be extracted and studied, like shards of glass pulled from a still-bleeding wound. 

The moment we met you sat in reception, waiting for me to interview you. I stalked down from my office, annoyed at the intrusion. I found you overly nervous and under experienced. You found me ‘scary’. We found each other and so it started. I tried to remind you that ‘I was technically your boss’, but with a smile like that, I was the one who needed reminding. 

The moment I knew I was wrong, I was still so invigorated from the argument that the realisation took a while to seep in, like slow working poison from a spider bite. “I’m sorry.” I said a little resentfully. You were right, I was jealous. Perhaps she wasn’t an evil, two-faced harpy, but I still didn’t want you hanging out with her. 

But the moment you knew you were wrong, you were able to act with far more grace. Humility, I guess, was always your strong point. You bowed your head and acknowledged that I had done a lot. Maybe not as much my angry over-exaggerations were insisting, but enough to keep us in ice-lollies and box-wine through that long, sad summer. You always knew how to stroke my ego and get it purring again. 

The moment I knew you didn’t care anymore you were fiddling with your phone- the one I hate. I told you I was going to see him for drinks- the one you hate. You didn’t blink, you didn’t look up and you didn’t argue. Perhaps you finally knew that there was no reason to worry, perhaps your disinterest was actually an extreme act of trust. But it still hurt that I had to contemplate this to the soundtrack of ‘Angry Birds’. 

And then last night, you said you’d had enough. We were making war, not love. Everyday was battle that we both lost. Both of us felt that we had sacrificed all, that we had no more to give. I listened to you as you spoke for more than an hour about the ups and the down, the valleys and the peaks and the moments that made us. I listened and I thought, but I felt nothing. Eventually, you trailed off into silence and waited for my response. “Ok.” I said. Ok, pack your things. Ok, it’s over. Ok, just go. I looked into your eyes and instead of hurt or disappointment, I saw reflected in your face the same emotion projected from my own heart. Relief. 

Perhaps I will never be able to isolate all the moments that made us, perhaps some of those shards will remain embedded forever, unexpectedly cutting and tearing at the scar tissue of our hearts just as we think they’ve had the time they need to heal. 

But I’ll never forget the moment that ended us.


----------



## Anna Buttons (Oct 11, 2011)

*Judges Entry - 628 Words*

*If This Were a Movie*

Flowers in jam jars are the best. There’s something so unaffected about choosing a jam jar as a vase. No pretentious git ever put their flowers in jam jars. Or maybe they do, how would I know? Maybe I’m just in a really good mood. I’m glad I got here first. I want to absorb the anticipation, revel in it a little.

I love this place. It feels like home. If you live in a cold, rainy city chances are you pay a fortune to live in a shoebox and end up spending lots of your time in kitch cafes with good heating. Inevitably the best one close to your house will end up feeling somewhat homely.

You are teenage love to me. My memories of you are my most revisited and therefore my most accessible. All my high school crushes, and boyfriends, blur into one smitten-sweaty tangle of images and flesh memories, but you were always outside that. Even at the time.

You’re so high up on that pedestal I put you on I wonder if there is any way you can not fall. I haven’t seen you in four and a half years. Two beers and a game of pool the last time during a whirlwind trip to visit too many people. I remember you looked almost grown up. Almost completely like a man. Even thinking about it makes me sick, in the best way. You asked me then, to let you know when I was single next. You said if this were a movie you would get a shot at the girl. I had been too scared to jump, in case falling off our pedestals killed us. In case I turned the only magic fairytale thing I ever had into something mundane with one too many trips to buy groceries. I still can’t imagine you doing anything like folding washing. It will be worth it though; anything to feel like this, even just one moment a year would be enough to sustain me to the next. I am kicking myself for not figuring this all out earlier, but maybe that’s the best way. To lament the time we have missed together and know, because I have checked, that this doesn’t happen for everyone.

You walk in and I am thirteen again and seeing you for the first time. And you are so desperately beautiful I wonder if in fact I have made you up and you’re not real at all. I have always wondered about that first meeting, and the certainty I felt. _I will love this boy. _The exact words clear as a bell in my mind. I have always wondered if they were a decision or something that happened to me. The destiny versus free will debate has always been tied to that moment for me. Was there any choice involved when you meandered down the street and sat down next to me on the park bench like we already knew each other? I don’t even know if what I’m doing now is a choice or part of some predetermined cosmic super-plan.  

I let the smile on your face outweigh the scary. I will leave my job, the guy I’m seeing, my house, my friends, my life and follow you anywhere. I will bring my seven favourite dresses, a bottle of perfume and my recipe book.

You won’t even have to ask, you will just have to let me.

You see me, stride over quickly, pull me up into a crushing hug and mumble somewhere behind my ear.

“I always wonder if you can possibly be as beautiful as I remember. It seems so unlikely, but I should give my imagination less credit, and give you more.”

_I will love this boy._


----------



## Die Oldhaetunde (Oct 11, 2011)

*Wo Kammen -- 563 words*

Wo Kammen – 563 words(Not including Title)

Their eyes met. In that moment, the birds, chirped a little louder, and Olstavo walked a little lighter. The sun shone a little brighter, it's warm rays melting the snow that much more. The girl, Anya, new nothing of Olstavo's mind set. She saw a bearded man gazing on her with much more affection than she could ever return, and it frightened her beyond despair. She quickly looked away, pressing out the creases on her school uniform.

Olstavo's heart stopped. But he would not be deterred. "Maeden, Maeden, Maedste du ein pöppiet ender mein!" Olstavo greeted her. He came up to her. He was loyal to her, and was her faithful servant. A look of admiration filled his eyes, which roamed over the entirety of her feminine form. But all this attention still, startled the school girl, who as yet was unaccustomed to the power she would soon wield over other men.

"Please, how is it you come to be out here by yourself? It is dangerous here in the Kedlstamach, at this hour!" Olstavo meant to speak with the utmost of protection, not knowing in the slightest how the girl would take it. And she did not understand this either. The words seemed to her, a threat, rather than a reassurance, and she trembled underneath the man's large form.

She trembled, delicately speaking, which to Olstavo, made her all the more beautiful, "Unt dass de du, Michnier? Wo ist dass kamste du ender hier?" Anya felt compelled to ask, to find how the man himself had come this far into the Kedlstamach. This deep into the forest, there could have been no good reason.

Olstavo blushed, and took out his book, upon which he had been making notes of herbs and flowers, their properties, and their medicinal values. Anya felt flush, and more than a little embarrassed. Ostavo bent low to the ground, writing in his book some properties of a new species of plant simply standing in plain sight. He beckoned her to sit by him.

“Kamste, Kamste, Maeden! Sitste Sie Hier!” He said eagerly. She, now slightly less nervous, did come, and did sit there by him. Olstavo talked to her rapidly, of the plants in the Kedlstamach. He had plans for the little space rock. The ecosystem was in its infancy, but, nurtured by colonists, such as he could bring, it could become a bustling space port. He waved his long arm up through the air, pointing it in the direction of the sky,

“Für ender die teime, Ich shael maede ein lacpührte, de dass dere bin mein Kaedelstadd...” He became quiet after saying this... as if his dream was something long and far away. Anya laughed, not in a mean way, but in a way that was infected by his dreams and optimism. To build a colony out of the Kedlstamach. To build a ship in the proportions that he was talking about... A great, grand, Kaedelstadd...it made her love this man.

“Unt Michnier, Shael du maede alle dass alön?” She asked. By now they were lying in the grass, comfortably and quiet. But in that moment their eyes met again, and there was no need for them to speak their vows, for both had said, “I do.”

“No. I shall not do all this alone, Maeden,” Olstavo said, “I shall do it with you.”Wo Kammen – 563 words(Not including Title)​


----------



## Tiamat (Oct 12, 2011)

*Caprice (628 words)*

On a quiet street in a quiet neighborhood where the loudest event was the passing rumble of a Cadillac with four sub-woofers and a seven-disk CD changer in the trunk, something not so quiet happened.  Magic, it is said, lurks in dark, forgotten corners to snare and entrance the unwary.  This magic did not slither.  It did not slink.  It roared, it thundered, it split the calm night in two as though by a mighty axe stroke. 

Of the six homes in the cul-de-sac, two were vacant.  The quiet residents of the two quiet homes were visiting their not-so-quiet relatives over the summer holiday.

Inside number 2303, Mrs. Wright, a widow with chronic ear infections and no grandchildren to whisper swear words and insults behind her back, merely assumed that the sound was her left eardrum rupturing for what seemed like the tenth time.  She turned on the TV, but it sounded like she was hearing it from underwater.  Sighing to herself, she turned it back off.  She missed her husband the most in moments like this.  He would’ve brought her the heating pad and rubbed her back until she dozed off.  The empty side of the bed did neither of these.

In number 2305, Frank Gibson bolted out of bed the instant the earsplitting crack tore through the air.  He fumbled with the drawer of his nightstand, knocking over a half-empty glass of Crown Royal until he located his .9 mm pistol.  After clicking off the safety, he stormed out the front door, bellowing curses at punk kids who might have been giggling had they been the source of the noise.  Back inside the house, Frank’s wife slept on, the open bottle of Oxycodone on her nightstand with Florence Wright’s name on it the only witness to her slumber.

The two women in 2306 paused in their lovemaking when they heard the noise.  Because this was a quiet Christian street in a quiet Christian neighborhood where God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve, they’d led everyone to believe that they were just roommates fresh out of college.  Neither Nora, nor her partner, Sara, could guess what caused the sound, and both decided that whether it was the second coming of Christ or just their crazy neighbor Gibson with his gun, they would continue to lie in each other’s arms and damned be the consequences. 

In 2302, eight-year-old Joey Burick laid in bed after the sound startled him enough to turn his night light back on.  He thought he knew what it was.  His parents were playing that game again.  He figured it had something to do with the leather stick and handcuffs they kept in a box in their closet, kind of like when he played cops and robbers with his friends from school.  He wondered why his parents could play games in the middle of the night when he had to be in bed.  It wasn’t fair.  Why couldn’t he play too?  He liked games.

Meanwhile, at the end of the cul-de-sac, a lone nymph climbed to her feet.  She regarded the neighborhood and raised one delicate eyebrow at the burly man who burst through his front door babbling something about teenagers and pranks.  She had an important gift for a special group of humans.  These humans, she decided, eying each house in turn, and lingering the longest on the crazy man on the porch, simply wouldn’t do.  Sighing slightly, for she hated stepping through space-time, she leapt skyward and vanished to a sound no louder than the popping of a small bubble.

As the night crept on, the quiet residents of this quiet neighborhood went on living their quiet little lives completely unaware that they had been scrutinized, if briefly, by something extraordinary.


----------



## Kat (Oct 12, 2011)

The Last Pause- 300 Words


----------



## Zootalaws (Oct 12, 2011)

*Witness For The Prosecution. (647 words)*

Seventeen seconds? 

Is that all? I saw it all from beginning to end. I didn’t hear anything, not a sound. All my processing was taken up with watching and there was nothing left to hear a sound. Like watching through thick glass or TV with the mute on.

If you asked me to be a witness I would be an abject failure. I was convinced it took minutes. Awful long minutes that shot every second onto my retina like a strippers tease, tearing his fragile life apart one frame at a time. Stored for posterity into, not some dark recess, but right up front on continuous play like the latest Spielberg masterpiece showing on my dedicated mental multiplex.

I had been warned. And if I hadn’t done it, somebody else would have had to step up, so I’m glad I did it. 

What they don’t prepare you for is the smell. The hot-cat-pheromone wall of smell, of sweat and fear and heat and sex and excitement. So strong I couldn’t breathe. My heart was racing, I was perspiring, even though the room was cool.

I remember going with my Daddy to see the boxing when I was a child. It was just the same. The opponents in the ring, the ring announcer, the referee making sure we had fair play, the doctor, the audience sitting on the edge of their seats. But silent. No screaming fans shouting “Kill him”, “Knock his block off”. No “Let’s Get ready To Ruuuummbbbllllle”. No Ring Girls in their skimpy costumes and perfect teeth.

But it was there, underneath the veneer of restraint was the twisting tendon of rage in the necks of those bearing witness. 
One short breath away from tearing at their clothes and screaming like a loon. 
One sideways glance of respectability from jumping on each other and yowling and fucking like beasts in season. 

Then there were the professionals. 

The bored looks of the prison guards, the casualness of chewed gum and shared jokes.  The pious superciliousness of the padre and his assistant. The pained countenance of the state doctor that had pulled the short straw, in this most anti-Hippocratic of roles. He was the one I felt most sorry for. You could see he was the most junior, the freshest. He had no say or in the proceedings except to be the official arbitrator of  the signs of life. To go against everything he had hoped and dreamed and trained for, to be used in this manner by the machinery of state, the grinder of souls for the election strategy of some politician or policeman.

And what if they are wrong? What if the soul sentenced to the eternal damnation of an executed murderer was innocent? The evidence wasn’t as rock-solid as the DA would have the media believe. There was a lot of work went on to get those witnesses word perfect. That’s my office and that’s why I am here. I am our representative.  That’s what they think, anyhow but that’s not why I am here. I am here to see the soul depart, to shrug off the pain and suffering of earthly life. I am to bear witness to the moment, the happening of a mere instant where that glorious, sinless soul snaps from the bonds of flesh and becomes weightless, beyond pain and suffering. 

Because he _is_ innocent. We all knew it, the cops knew it, his parents knew it, his teachers and friends knew it. The only ones that didn’t know it were the parents of that poor girl. And they had friends in high places.

Well you have friends in high places too sweet boy! You go be with your maker and be at peace.  I’ll be watching for the moment, that sweet moment that takes you up into love and away from these petty, vicious untruths. 

I am your witness.


----------



## Nacian (Oct 12, 2011)

*I Thought I Heard A Noise*

_*I Thought I heard A Noise*_  (646 without the title)

I thought I heard  a noise. It  happened in a mere moment, totally unexpected, just when I was immersed with the news of the day.
The paper's front page was filled with headlines that almost soared out of view, as my eyes set out to search for  words and  meanings, looking to find a way,  trying   to make sense of it all.
Such was my disbelief,  that I  was sat plunged in  my seat  in  a world of my own.
I was so gone with my thoughts, that I jumped out of my seat, disturbed by this noise,  like a wake up call it seemed to return back to earth.

I stood up and waited. It came back again.
 This time it was swift then quirky, like chimes whistling to be noticed.
I brushed it aside,  and just like dust it seemed to fly away, and then silence was restored.
The news were pressing  and my mind was hurried, looking to pause and  searching to reflect. I sat down  again in need of a rest.
Then it started  again.
 It came back then went, then came back again. Just like a stroke of threes, it waved back and forth  bringing a resonance from a distance afar.

I was bemused,  distracted, and yet vowed to ignore it entirely this time. The paper on my desk  appeared to be glowing under the  morning light, as if under a heat,  in need of  a fan, a breeze  to make it cool  again.
The content  of its pages were stood as if in a pile, a heafty site and weight  in need of  a lift.
And then there was this noise. I simply could not make it out.
It  was coming from  the garden outside of that I was sure.

I wondered wether autumn was playing hide and seek amongst its nature and fields.
Or maybe it was the branches, the sound of the trees mellowing in the sun and figgeting in the wind.
 I paused then thought:''Oh well it may well be the birds,... oh no ....wait !!maybe it was the squirrels''. 
There are  many about and it is the season for them to crunch  on some conquers.
 I often go for walks looking to find squirrels, and even say hello as if they were there to see if they would come out and play.
 I enjoy their very brief appearance as they ran up and down the trees  and disappear out of view in a flick of an eye. 

 By now I promised myself  to quiver no   longer over such a fracas.
I reached out for my paper.
Then all of the sudden, my pen dropped on the parquet, the very polished floor that is my pride and joy.
 At that very second, the movement of the pen, the cracking of the floor and the raffling noise within the branches, outside I was sure, bounced off the walls as they caught up together, unenchanted, and then  melted away  into  a line of rhyme.
A rippling sound effect, as they plunged out of the hollowed silence and drew up as if by strength,  a tuny hint of magic only the mind can seal. Just like a note, a storm  out of a calm, blew out a perfect sound between the outside, the pen, the chanting of the branches and the quirking of the floor that stood up to the pen that fell without a care. 
It floated in the room and filled it up with purpose and thrilled my anxious self and then it went away.

To my own amusement and as I turned around to see out  onto the garden, there  it was........  the noise!!!. Amongst the flowers beds the  bushes and the trees,  appeared an apple and a dog,  cruising upon the leaves, in full view of the sun, across the watered grass,  playing the chase and catch.


----------



## TheFuhrer02 (Oct 13, 2011)

*Flash
(643 Words, excluding title)*

_Entry… Sphenoid bone… Frontal lobe of the left brain hemisphere…_

Nathan just stood there beside his chair, his classmates staring at him in pity, though some in delight. His teacher, Miss Sanchez, glared at him as she tapped her right foot swiftly on the wooden floor. “Well, Mr. Linniell? Can you tell me the correct answer?”

Nathan remained silent, engrossed on a small black spot on the floor.

“You can never do anything right, can you? Your written exams are lackluster, and your recitation grades are mediocre at best.” Miss Sanchez said.

“You never study, do you? You don’t even make an effort to try. You can never achieve anything. You can never be worth anything.”

_Motor speech area of Broca… Parietal lobe of the right brain hemisphere…_

Nathan was on his queen-sized bed inside his room. He was trying hard to read and understand the words written on the pages of his book on English literature. _Why do these people from the old times spoke and wrote so weirdly? Can’t they speak simple English instead of these big words?_

Nathan got out of bed, picked up his book and went to his mother’s room. Upon opening the door, Nathan found his mom typing something on her laptop computer. “Mom, could you help me out on an assignment?”

“I’m busy with something, Nathan. I’ll help you later.”

_Post central gyrus of the left parietal lobe… Inferior parietal lobule…_

Nathan knocked on the door of the faculty room. Upon hearing the “come in!” from the inside, he entered. The room was big, Nathan thought. He looked around and saw this long wooden table in the middle of the room. On the farther side were cubicles that he assumed belonged to the teachers.

Miss Carol, Nathan’s homeroom adviser and English teacher, was the only person inside. She seemed busy reading through a stack of notebooks. “You wanted to see me, Miss Carol?” Nathan asked.

“Yes,” replied the teacher, her eyes never leaving the notebook she was reading. “I’ve read your journals. They’re rather interesting, and promising, if I may say so.”

Miss Carol then looked at Nathan with a smile. “I have something for you to do.”

_Intraparietal sulcus… Superior parietal lobule…_

“And the winner of the 2006 BSP-DepEd National Inter-school Essay Writing Contest, Nathan Linniell!”

The sound of applause echoed across the auditorium of the Manila Science High School as Nathan stood up and walked towards the stage to claim his medal.

As he got on the stage, he looked at the crowd. As usual, his parents were missing. They were probably busy with their work, or perhaps they’re just too busy to see their child win some sort of achievement. Nathan shook his head slightly. He won’t let them, or their absence, get in the way of his victory. This was his moment. Nathan walked towards the host and received his gold medal. It was indeed heavier than it looked, Nathan feeling the weight of his prize on his neck. 

Nathan once again took a long look at the crowd. They were standing, and smiling, as they clapped their hands. He saw Miss Carol, smiling widely as she applauded her student. Nathan couldn’t suppress his tears. They started flowing ever so slowly on his cheeks. Nathan hurriedly wiped them off.

He was worth something.

_Parietal bone… Exit wound…_

“That should give us some time. Let’s go!”

Nathan felt himself falling to the ground, memories flashing through him as he did so. He could vaguely hear people screaming eerily as men in masks holding guns and sacks of what seemed to be money ran away.

Nathan expected a hard surface but instead he felt himself falling to the lap of a policeman. The policeman was saying something but Nathan couldn’t hear it.

As everything slowly faded to black, Nathan’s parents, as usual, weren’t there.


----------



## Bluesman (Oct 13, 2011)

(650 words including title)



                                                            The Visit


Hello Sugarplum I’ve come to you here in your dreams, you look so beautiful as you sleep. I wanted to talk to you again I can't tell you how much I miss you, how I wanted to talk to you let you know I'm doing fine here in this place. It's very odd this place it's somewhere between here and there,  I'm not trapped I can move but it's like learning to walk again. When I died they came for me I wanted to stay and did for a little while but then I knew it was time to go, and as much as it hurt I could feel I couldn't change it.


I knew my passing could not have come on a worse day, I was so sorry the way it happened, not enough that you lose me but for me to go on your wedding day like that must have so so painful. We had such a great time it was all going so well, nothing went wrong and everyone looked so splendid the men in the morning suits and top hats the brides maids in their gorgeous pink dresses and then Peter with his best man looking like a true gentleman waiting at the alter for you. I wept tears of joy, I was so proud of everyone and then I saw you walking down the isle with your father. My heart caught in my throat and my eyes filled again with tears of such burning joy. How wonderful it was on such a beautiful day it was all so perfect, the sun shone, the flowers were gorgeous, the guests were all looking stunning. It lives on with me now I can feel all that love all that happiness it comes with you here when you die. Don't ever be afraid Sugarplum when it's your time to come here I'll be here waiting for you ready to help you.


It was such a stupid thing to happen such a little stupid thing everything was going as we planned I left after the photo's in the church and rushed home to change for the reception as we agreed , your father was with me, it should only have taken a little while. I rushed upstairs and everything was ready. It took me no time at all. I was so happy so utterly thrilled with everything and then as I was at the top of the stairs I tripped. I don't remember  much it didn't hurt me I felt like I was flying, well I was I was flying down the stairs head first. That’s when I left and saw myself lying there still, I was so mad I couldn't work out what was happening, I was floating above me. Your father talking to me holding my hand and then ringing 999 then crying over me. I'm so sorry I ruined your wonderful day sugarplum it just happened but I want you to know I love you and miss you all so much.


When you wake tomorrow you will only have a faint memory of this moment but one day we will talk about it in time and you will understand. It's been twelve months now since I passed away I remembered it all so well and I wish I could have talked to you sooner but here in this place it's hazy, and I get confused sometimes. I'm still learning how to be here how to understand where I am and what’s going on. Your are so beautiful and I know you are happy in your life, please don't be to sad tomorrow think of the good time we had and one day we will be together again. Tell your father to cheer up he's being far to glum. Goodnight sugarplum this is your sweet dream be happy and we'll talk again soon. Hugs and kisses.


----------



## Gamer_2k4 (Oct 13, 2011)

*The Eternal Instant*

Time to bring some classic sci-fi into the mix.

*The Eternal Instant
(650 words, excluding title)*


"Remember this day, Winston.  We're approaching the most significant moment in human history."

Winston frowned.  Hugh was prone to dramatic displays, but it seemed unnecessary for today's task.  They were simply going to run tests; nothing more.  The tests would probably fail and join the ranks of the overfunded, underproductive projects that seemed the rule rather than the exception.

But if they succeeded...

If they succeeded, they would change the course of the future, and possibly even rewrite the past.  Such was the nature of time travel.  Such was the gravity of their research.

Still, premature ceremony was pointless.  "Let's just do the experiments," Winston said.

"Of course.  Is the first subject ready?"

Winston nodded and placed the steel cube into the machine, which was simply a platform enclosed by three steel arches.  A pale blue orb joined each intersection of metal, and thick cables connected the assembly to a nearby control panel.  The device was plain, but powerful.

Supposedly.

"When should we shuttle our inanimate pioneer?" Hugh asked grandly.

Winston checked his watch, ignoring his partner's enthusiasm.  "Set it to 15:17, today."

Hugh complied.  "Five minutes? That long?"

"That long," Winston confirmed.  "We're not taking any chances.  If we delay too long and don't reset the destination..."

"We send it into the past," Hugh finished.  "And alter the present."

Winston nodded.

As the minutes crawled by, the test's implications began to weigh on both men, and despite Winston's earlier misgivings, he couldn't help but feel excited.  Soon they would learn if Hugh's drama had been justified.

"Mark," said Winston.  The chronometer read 3:16 as Hugh activated the platform.  The cube vanished.

The men held their breaths.

Exactly one minute later, the cube reappeared.  Winston and Hugh rushed over, examined it, and looked at each other triumphantly.

"We did it!" cried Hugh.  "History will remember this day, this hour, this minute! We've changed the universe forever, my friend!"

A broad grin had appeared on Winston's face.  "Well, don't stop now! On to the next test!"

Hugh already had the caged rat in his hands.  "Enter the coordinates! 15:20, today!"

Winston complied.  The rat disappeared, the minutes passed, and at 3:20 sharp, it reappeared, apparently unharmed.

"It works on metal, it works on flesh..." Hugh breathed.  "But will it work on a human?"

Winston's smile vanished.  "What?"

Hugh turned to him, eyes alight.  "A cube and a rat can't tell us anything.  How can we truly understand this but through personal experience?"

"No," Winston said sharply.  "We need more data-"

Hugh had already scrambled onto the platform, carelessly knocking the caged rat off.  "To obstruct the march of progress is to be trampled!  Punch in 15:22."  Winston hesitated.  "Do it!"

Winston reluctantly entered the numbers.  He paused, fingers hovering over the activation button.  "Are you sure?"

"It's now or never," Hugh said.  "Time's running out."

Winston glanced at the timer.  Ten seconds remained until the future became the past.  "Then it's never.  I can't let you do this."

Something squeaked.  Both men looked down to see the rat scurrying around, freed from its prison.  The impact against the ground must have knocked the cage open, and now the rat was dashing towards Winston.

Winston jumped aside.  The rat went past him, climbing the console.  A strangled "No!" escaped Hugh's lips.

The tiny feet ran over the activation button.  The machine hummed.  Hugh disappeared.

Winston stared in horror at the clock, which calmly flashed the time back to him.  15:22.  Hugh had travelled to the very second he left.

Then he had made the trip again.  And again.  And again.

Countless eons passed in that infinitesimal slice of time.  Eternity was locked in an instant.  And Hugh, mortal as any human, could do nothing to avoid the unstoppable torrent of entropy.  Nobody could withstand infinity.  He had starved, suffocated, dehydrated, and ultimately disintegrated.

It was the most significant moment in human history.


----------



## elite (Oct 13, 2011)

SKYLINE​
By elite.
​

His eyes opened slightly. He was blinded by the burning sunlight that had mercilessly burnt his skin. The warm and loving sun that he saw from the ground was a powerful beast from above. The shock from the explosion likely made him forget what he was doing, for it was all he remembered. The air was being pushed out of his lungs, as if he had put a vacuum cleaner inside his mouth. One question remained: _why_ did this happen?

His body was completely numb, but he felt the shock of the debris that grazed him on their way back to the ground. It was a shame that it had ended in failure; the many years they spent building the first space elevator were for naught. The space suit he wore had long since begun to tear apart; it was a sign of to what extent it had gone to keep him alive. But even that was meaningless, for even carbon nanotube fiber wouldn't save him from atmospheric reentry.

It was all just like the old stories he used to hear. Like Icarus, whose ambition to reach the sun came at the expense of his wings and thus his life, perhaps humanity's wings were not meant to reach the stars. Without eyes to see, air to breathe, or strength to move, all he could do was reach out, reach out to the mighty sun that declared him unworthy of having wings.

How long had it been since his end began? He had lost track of time, but his logic told him that no more than a few seconds had passed. Yet every second counted as a small eternity to the soon to be dead man.

His burnt eyes could still make up something: a black line that soared its way above the earth. It was a black line that not even the sun could burn, nor its light could hide. The carbon nanotube cable that connected the earth with the heavens stood mighty and straight, it was the skyline that mankind wished for so long, one that had nor horizon nor frontier.

The man smiled, beholding the thin structure that finally reduced the meaning of the word height to a meaningless measure. With it, space would become another destination, just another long ride where the kids would fall asleep halfway through. He was glad that the work of his life was still standing. He would not have slept peacefully had the hope for mankind fallen back to earth.

He closed his eyes, slowly. His heart had given up on living, and his mind was fine with the outcome. That would have been the case, had he not reached out. The hand that reached towards the heavens was firmly gripped by the hand of an angel that wouldn't let him go.

"Help me push him up!" The angel yelled to one of his companions. Two angels pulled him onto a white carriage. "Unbelievable! He's _alive_!" One of them exclaimed with Joy. Almost immediately, air was pumped into his lungs. He fainted, but he knew it was not the eternal slumber of death. He was now in familiar ground, shrouded from the darkness of empty space.

Yes, he was sure he would wake up to see the skyline rise above the heavens.


----------



## MaggieMoo (Oct 13, 2011)

*Virtually You!*

By MaggieMoo

You left in such a hurry. You said she found out; found out what? Nothing happened and nothing ever will now, so it seems. Here I sit, alone, bemused about the whole situation. 


“Wait here.” You mumbled and then you disappeared. 

You’re just in my virtual world they claim, but what do they know? They didn’t see your smile. Nor did they hear you laugh. They didn’t even read anything you wrote me, in private. Now all their ogling eyes on me, as though I have committed a crime. Is it a crime to love? I tell you they’re evil. I’ll not listen to another word they say about you. You are real; not in my dreams, not in my imagination and not in virtual reality either, but in my life. I still long to hold you; caress you and kiss your warm lips. I love you more than one shall ever know. So let them bicker, let them stare and let them judge! 

Sitting quietly, I’ll wait for your return. You said you love me, you’ll always be here for me, so why aren’t you here right now. 

Maybe they are right; they torment me with their reasons why we shouldn’t be together. They go on about the distance and time. They believe I acted foolishly and claim you toyed with me… That you left me here to bleed internally. Messing with my; already lonely heart, just for fun. But you wouldn’t, you couldn’t. It’s not in you to hurt. It’s not what you do. I have known you for twelve months. I know how you think and react. I know you wouldn’t hurt me so; would you?

I can only imagine you right now. At your desk in your office downstairs; your head cupped in your hands, dreading her footsteps as she stomps around the house like an elephant. She’d be nagging and whinging, as though you owe her your life. But does she know that I am the woman you love. That I fill the void you’ve been yearning for, all your life… 
“Three marriages later and you still cannot love!” She wails from the top of the stairwell. “Piff!” That’s what she thinks. I know you love me. I feel it in our letters, our emails and many hours of private chats. 

You didn’t play me. I just know you are real. I have your email address, phone numbers and residential address. Yes! You are real. I have heard you voice. So why am I questioning? 

That’s it! I have to know why… I’ll ring you.

Here goes. My hands are trembling, even though I have rung your mobile number so many times before. 

I stop… Why can’t I do it? Why can’t I just dial the number I have memorised so well? Why don’t I want to hear your elegant English accent? Perhaps deep down inside, I really don’t want to know. Maybe I am frightened of the truth. Woe to me, my virtual love. 

Now as I stare back at my family and friends, I suddenly realise I am a fool. I wonder if they will ever forgive me. 
Why would they? 
I don’t! 
And you’ve only been gone; all of five minutes.

“Goodbye my love, catch you in our dreams.” 

MM


----------



## ChicagoHeart (Oct 15, 2011)

*Only A Moment** ( 637 words)*

 Jade was home early. It felt strange to be there at this time of day and see her normally bustling Chicago neighborhood subdued and quiet.  She was struck by what a transformation the area must undertake before her normal evening arrival time. The streets would be alive with pedestrians and the dinner crowd would fill the outdoor venues. She turned from the window and looked around her small apartment.  Suddenly she just felt lonely. Reality was sinking in.  She walked over to the sofa and sank into the cushions. She still couldn’t believe she’d lost her job.  Everything felt hopeless. 
“How do I get through this?” she thought.  “How will I pay the rent and keep the lights on? Why is there no one to catch me when I fall?” 
Gradually, her self- pity turned to blame and everything became David’s fault.  Two years and still no commitment. Still no partner to see her through the rough patches.  
“He’ll probably just tell me to start being frugal, consider a cheaper place, keep my chin up.  But I’m on my own aren’t I?  What’s the point of being in love if it never changes anything?” She hung her head and let the tears fall. 
***********************************************************************************
“I’ll take it,” David said.  The ring was elegant. A sparkling one carat princess cut diamond on a platinum band.  Moments ago, he’d been sitting in traffic gathering information from the local news radio station.  The highway was shut down due to a fatal accident.  David’s proximity to the tragedy was unsettling. “Someone isn’t coming home tonight,” he’d thought. Then his mind had flashed to Jade. What would he do if she just wasn’t there anymore? He’d realized he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. He had to quit hesitating and make a commitment to her before it was too late. With nothing but love on his mind, he had crept up to the next exit and taken a new direction. Miller’s Jewelry.  This was the moment to act.
*************************************************************************************
Jade was startled to hear a knock on the door. Who would know she was home? She pulled herself up from the sofa where she’d been in tears, walked to the door and looked through the peep hole. 
It was Scott from two doors down. She really didn’t want him to see her like this but she was also a little heartened to see his face. Scott was always so friendly and funny.  And helpful.  Always there in a pinch when she needed a hand with something that couldn’t wait for David to come by.   She wiped her eyes and opened the door. 
“Hi Jade,” he said.  “Saw you come home early- is everything okay?”
Suddenly, all of the emotion of the day welled up in her throat and she couldn’t even speak. Scott stepped inside and put his arms around Jade, holding her tightly while she buried her face in his chest.  
“Everything will be ok,” he said. “Tell me what’s happened. How can I help?”
 Jade looked up, and for a fleeting moment thought, “I need this now. “ 
She tilted her face toward his and felt his lips brush hers.  
When she opened her eyes, she saw David.  The door was still ajar and he’d appeared at the entrance. She quickly removed herself from the embrace. 
“It was only a moment David. It meant nothing. I’ve just had the most tragic day and…”
 Her voice trailed off. What had she done? How could she hurt the man she’d loved for so long? 
David ran a finger across the small box in his coat pocket. He thought about the lovely moment when he’d realized he couldn’t live without Jade. 
“I know, Jade. It was only a moment.”  He paused. “ But it meant everything.”
And he turned and walked away.


----------



## DuKane (Oct 16, 2011)

That moment - 645 words


It’s difficult to explain. You have to understand me, my family, our philosophy and most important of all, our team. 
Family members took me to matches, my father explaining my rite of passage, my key to joining the family united in support of one team.

It wasn’t the rebellion of youth that made my father’s task difficult, I was only eight. I just didn’t feel the passion he and the rest so obviously felt. 
I was indifferent to it all, couldn’t care about the result and was embarrassed to argue that they were ‘the’ team.

It changed one Saturday many years later when I was at a friend’s house. His father asked if I wanted to accompany them to a match.
“Ring your mum and check,” he encouraged.

On receiving parental confirmation, I duly fell into that anticipatory mode, us kids having a quick kick-a-bout in the road where we emulated our heroes of the day. 
Scoring impossible goals from impossible angles and laughing all the while.

After lunch, three adults and six kids piled into the large Ford Zephyr car and set off.
In the back we kids excitedly argued about the impending match and how we would smash the other team. 
The adults, in front, laughed at our childish predictions and lack of subject knowledge. 
The fact that I didn’t know ‘the team’ they were mentioning didn’t really cross my mind.

I watched the route carefully, noting the direction in which we seemed to be heading. It was a little too familiar. 
Slowly my heart began sinking as, with every turn, I noted landmarks that I recognised when my family took me.

We parked and mingled with the throng of supporters, their chanting of obscenities aimed toward the opposing side becoming clearer as we neared the ground. 
Us kids sniggered at hearing these grown adults openly swearing. I hid any disappointment at returning to that same ground and joined in with the sniggering.

We marched past the main turnstiles and I was confused, where were we going? I saw the sign which proclaimed ‘Visitor’s entrance’. 
I stood in line as though it were the most natural thing to do. 

The penny finally dropped. I was about to commit the cardinal sin and support a side that today, opposed my family’s team. 
Suddenly I began to feel different. Nobody supported this team. 
They hadn’t won anything of note and lived on long past glories, a team that were dominant when my father was my age. 

I felt no guilt at my betrayal of the family team as we entered, standing in the mass of supporters from that other side, openly clapping along with the derogatory chants being directed at my family’s team. I reveled in it, the rebellion, the feeling of being different. This team had chosen me and I readily accepted their challenge. No one openly chose to support this team unless you lived in the area they represented.

The first goal went in and the whole stadium erupted, except for the visitor’s end. A second quickly followed along with derisory chants of how bad my new found team was from the opposition, I didn’t care. When the third goal entered, I could clearly hear the groans, the rebellion of the supporters deriding their own team stirring around me, as my family’s team supporters bayed at our misfortune.

I looked around at the angry and resigned faces in the visitors end, the embarrassment of defeat all too clear. 
Silently they began to hide their scarves, some openly heading for the exits, not being able to take it anymore. 
Me, I was happy, we lost 3-0, ‘we’ I said to myself with a faint smile. I’d found the passion that my father had striven so hard to instill in me, but with another team. 
A passion for a lifetime.


----------



## InsanityStrickenWriter (Oct 16, 2011)

The Moment of Everything
(546 words)
​

Outside of the universe, sitting stationary and eternal, both everywhere and nowhere, is a large glass box that can’t ever be looked out of; it would cause far too much of a headache to even try. In the centre of the box stood seven, tall, ghostly figures, gathered in a circle around a point of infinite nothingness. As they observed the point, it exploded into a small ball, growing rapidly, and a multitude of specks, sparks and swirls popped into existence within it, each shining brightly. Then, everything stopped and stagnated, the specks, sparks and swirls faded and the ball collapsed back into a point of nothingness.

“Is it eternally over?” asked the first of the seven figures.
“I think it’s restarted,” said the second.
“Is a start logical?” pondered the third.
“Maybe if it repeats the same pattern,” said the fourth.
“So it will now stagnate?” asked the fifth.
“And now it will fade,” said the sixth.
“It must also collapse again,” said the seventh.

*

“Is it eternally over?” asked the first.
...

*

“We should mix things up,” said the third.
“But then you disrupt the pattern,” said the fourth.
“And then it’ll be eternally over,” said the first.
“We could try and hold it in constant stagnation?” said the fifth.
“But it has to fade eventually,” said the sixth.
“And it has to collapse to start anew,” said the seventh.
“I think it’s restarted,” said the second.

*

“Is it eternally over?” asked the first.
...

*

“Is it– what was my line again?” asked the first.
“You repeat it often enough,” said the fourth. “You ought to remember.”
“And now it will fade,” said the sixth.
“But it hasn’t even started yet, you twit,” said the second.
“Is a start logical?” asked the third.
“It has to be so it can collapse,” said the seventh, interrupting the fourth.
“Huh? Has it stagnated yet or not?” asked the fifth.

*

“Err... is it eternally begun?” asked the first.
“It has ended?” said the second.
“And now it will explode?” said the seventh.
“And shine?” said the sixth.
“And never ever ever ever stagnate?” said the fifth.
“Is never stagnating logical?” asked the third.
The fourth sighed.

*

“Can we just have a break to go over our lines, please?” said the first.
The fourth rolled his eyes. “Fine.”
...

*

“Is it eternally over?” asked the first.
“I think it’s– wait... it never ended the last time, did it?” said the second.
“Is never-ending logical?” pondered the third.
The fourth clenched his jaws and his figure flushed a faint red. “Maybe if it repeats in the same pattern.” Each word was strained.
“Can something never-ending stagnate?” asked the fifth.
“It could probably fade...” said the sixth.
“And collapse?” said the seventh.

*

“Forgot my line again,” said the first.
The fourth’s arms shot out to strangle the first’s neck, shooting across the point of nothingness and destroying it.
“Oh, well done, now it can’t restart,” said the second.
“Is not restarting logical?” pondered the third.
“Can something stagnate without a start?” asked the fifth.
“I... I didn’t mean to... it’s gone...” said the fourth, stepping back.
“Oh, so it’s faded you mean?” said the sixth.
“And collapsed, I think,” said the seventh.


----------



## moderan (Oct 16, 2011)

Watch the Birdie-642 words

There's a golf game playing on the television. The others are either dozing or harmonizing with Mr. Bird. Bird is a great artist, and wants to know if the outside nest has another outside nest. It's known that there are boundaries, because Herbie and Junior have both been out, and everyone saw them fall and heard the sound of them hitting the wall.

"The wall, the wall," the chorus croons, "it's the end of the world, and it's near."

Herbie sings-"I can plainly see. It is clear to me."

The chorus peeps-"He can plainly see what is yet to be..."

Junior warbles-"Look to the right at the source of the light. For you've been granted sight to assist your flight."

The chorus tweets-"Look to the right to the light." 

It is clear that the light comes in through a pane,as the mirror pane that shows you yourself when you stand before it, but without anything behind it. 
You mention this-"When you look to the right there's a nest outside. The light comes in through a mirror that's clearer."

The chorus chirps-"Ooooooo. A mirror that's clearer is clearly superior.."

Preening is.

The bigger featherless has been making something. It looks like a new nest. That it was a nest had been the subject of the last improversation. He's moving the new nest closer.

The hand comes in and begins to quest, everyone dodging and tweeting location. The young ones go first. Your brother Herbie, who had been in the middle nest, is clutched, and you see him in the new nest. Then the hand comes in and chases you around until you're caught!

Your beak digs into flesh and your talons clutch and your wings desperately try to open. You bite down hard, hoping to make the big featherless let go, and it WORKS and your wings really do open and flap and you're in the AIR OUTSIDE THE NEST and you see another clearer mirror and you head for it hoping that there's a hole in it somewhere and you can just keep on flying until you're away and you flap and you flap and you flap and on the television, a golfer is on the fairway near the right-hand bunker and is attempting to reach the green with a 5-iron. He winds up and the head of his golf club hits the ball with a thwack! as you flap one more time and bounce. Your beak and claws clink! on the glass.

"He's by the window," says the smaller featherless as the bigger makes haste and recovers you. He takes you to the new nest.

You rush to sit beside your brother and begin to compose while the rest of the flock are brought to the nest. Your father Huey is preening, proud, and Lady Bird your mother sits erect beside him. Huey is percussion, rhythm, and he brings a little extra swing to his beats.

"If you hit the wall, then you're bound to fall," you begin.

Mr. Bird ripostes-"This much we do know, but what about the window? Where does the window go?"

And you answer-"Where the window goes, we still don't know, but the resulting fall is the same as the wall. There's just no hole in the window so there's nowhere to go. If you hit the glass then you'll hit your ass fast."

Preening is. 

"I wonder what they say when they're all singing like that," says the smaller featherless, looking at you, the flock.

"Impossible to know," answers the larger featherless, watching the golfer sink the third shot of a par four, a 25-foot putt. The golfer preens too.


----------



## Philosophocles (Oct 16, 2011)

*​Untitled-649 Words*

Jermaine was not sure if he wanted to be a man anymore. Being a man, he decided, was frightening. A terrible fear twisted his insides into knots and turned his legs to water. His hands were shaking, and his shoulder ached from when he had fallen earlier. Water soaked his shoes and the lower legs of pants. His socks were wet, and it felt as if ice were forming between his toes. Snot ran from his nose, but he did not know if it was from the cold, his tears, or a mixture of both. He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his jacket. Big Chris told him he would not feel a thing, that it would be quick and easy. He might even like it. But now it was different. He was scared, more scared now than he was of Big Chris.
_You wanna be a man, lil’ homey? If you wanna roll wit’ me, you gotta prove you can do this kinda work. You ain’t no punk is you? _Jermaine squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them quickly. He was a man. He could do this. His mother called him her little man, but after tonight he would be a big man, like Big Chris. Everybody was scared of Big Chris, he was the man. Even his daddy had been wary of Big Chris. _Ain’t no pride in what he does, _he could hear his daddy say. _That’s not what a man should be doing, son._ But what did his daddy know? He was a broke wino. _Your father’s right, _his mother whispered, even as he watched her go into her bedroom with a strange man.
He shook his head. It was now or never. Men weren’t born, they were made. And Jermaine wanted to make himself into a man. He wanted a big watch with diamonds, a big house and a big car. There wouldn’t be any more dirty gym shoes and ratty clothes. He could afford all the fashionable clothes, just like the clothes he had seen in music videos and the clothes that Big Chris wore. And that pretty girl that only hung around all those older boys would notice him more if he had diamond earrings. _Diamonds. _He saw himself glistening in the sun with expensive jewelry. Then he would really be a man. 
Jermaine braced himself as he lifted the gun higher. The weapon was heavy and silver. It shone in the street light, a big diamond. His arm shook with the weight of it. The man stood only a few yards from him, his back pressed up against an old vehicle and his hands raised. Jermaine did not know why Big Chris wanted him dead, to Jermaine he looked like a typical crack-head. He was old-looking and his clothes were worse than Jermaine’s. _It’s like stompin’ on a spider. It’s over just dat fast. _Jermaine didn’t want to think of spiders, they scared him. The crack-head in front of him scared him. He suddenly wanted to go home. And just as he thought that, the man rushed him. 
He screamed and backed up as the man reached wildly for the gun. Jermaine tripped over his own feet and fell down, his hands flew up and he felt the gun leave his hand. The man ran to retrieve the gun and Jermaine scrambled to his feet and began to run. He got about a dozen feet before there was a loud bang and he hit the ground hard. He heard screaming .There was a pain his back and he couldn’t rise. He saw the man running down the street and wondered why his own legs weren’t moving. His thoughts drifted to his father as the darkness closed in. _You rush into being a man, son, and you’ll fall hard. _A tear rolled down his face. His daddy had been right.


----------



## Like a Fox (Oct 17, 2011)

Oookay- that's all folks!


----------

