We’re all made of stories. When they finally put us underground, the stories are what will go on. Not forever, perhaps, but for a time. It’s a kind of immortality, I suppose, bounded by limits, it’s true, but then so’s everything.”

~ Charles de Lint

Our illustrious judges, Colleen Gleason and Scott Embler, have notified me of the results of the Tiny Stories Contest, and thus it is my great pleasure to share all of the wonderful entries with you. Afterwards I will announce the winner. But first:

If you submitted a story and do not see it here, I apologize. I combed through all my email multiple times to find stories and hope to have gotten them all. One of the things that occurred to me during the process is that for the next writing competition I will send a reply as soon as I receive entries, thus giving you, the submitee, a way to determine whether or not your email has gone through.

Second, I have placed names next to each story, but there are a few of you whose websites I cannot determine. If you don’t see a link to your site please leave it in the comments and I will update the post.

I was so pleased with the participation and the quality of stories produced. Well done all! There is a great deal of creativity out there and I am excited to have experienced the output of your creativity.

So what are the rest of you waiting for? On with the tales…

“The universe is made up of stories, not of atoms”

~ Muriel Rukeyser
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Anticipation ~Deslily

Lilith deemed herself a nonentity, an insignificant individual, worth absolutely nothing.

Even though frightened, she still needed the question answered.
“Are you real?”

Reluctantly, before any more words could pass between them, reaching out towards his hand, touching, feeling warmth. He existed.
Stepping back in disbelief, desperately needing validation for this old man, who stood there unwearyingly waiting for acceptance.

Heart pounding, petrified of turning away, her eyes began filling with tears. Trembling, nearly unable to see, emotions were rapidly surfacing, running amuck. Dreading disappointment, panic, fear, apprehension welled up inside.

Hope? After all these years, could it be possible?
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Father ~ Elaine Hughes

Once respected, long fallen from grace. Should-be guardian or mentor, pitiful waste. Life all spent in fluid measures, adrift on seas of amber nectar.

Simply cannot (will not) look upon his face.

Maudlin declarations splash about my feet; mere pretenses at caring offered between swigs, nothing words, spoken without being heart-felt.

He grasps for control – dangling money, simultaneous carrot and sword. Compassion’s absence conspicuous; the bleak void houses bitter hypocrisies.

Relationships lie empty, broken, shrouded by misplaced guilt, dormant dreams.

A woman once told me: “True love is loving those hardest to.” Only now comprehension dawns, as I walk away.
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Untitled ~ Nathan Waddell

Godbear rouses from eons-long hibernation bellowing contempt. Screaming rage. Cities crumble in aftershocks as sulfur-tinged spumes burst forth out of mighty ursine nostrils. Worldwide, nations panic. United Nations’ Security Council convenes a special committee, its mandate counter-monsterism.

Prototype giant robots fall one after another under divine onslaught. Bullets, bombs, lasers, even nukes– ineffectual. Swallowed whole. Defeat seems imminent. Secretary General Marilyn Manson surrenders, then resigns. White flags fly everywhere. Yet, silence. The deity has forsaken Earth, seeking starry salmon amidst galactic byways. Supernovae herald this heavenly arrival with ultradense neutronium bursts.

She’s there still. You know her name:

Ursa Major.
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Tang-Gi aka Receiving Spirits ~ Ai Cha Ku

Compared to most other jobs, this was some piece of cake: Simply shake, loll, maybe drool. Basically act possessed. Easy peasy, seriously.

So, it surprised him when, moments after drums started beating, suddenly overwhelming static obscured all noise.

What’s happening?

“TiGong’s coming!” Peck signaled.

Seng lost control, watched dumbly from aside, his body taken over by – the deity? Can’t tell. Strange, both existing in one space.

Devotees crowded around. Then, let through, each approached, prostrated, prayed, petitioned.

Nevermind how or why, just as quickly, everything ended. He returned, sweaty but hooked.

What a rush! There’ll be next time. For sure!
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Untitled ~ Lynette Terrill

Someone sells trinkets at that corner. Pretty things, bright, sparkling on a dirty towel. People stop in passing, and exclaim, but nobody knows what they’re really seeing. Where those pretties come from.

Curious? Follow, when he leaves tonight…moon’s full, it’s the right time. I did, once. Wanted answers… Give me your napkin, I’ll show you my path.

Bellwether Park’s oldest bit, here. Gnarled oaks, overgrown animal tracks. This way…go north.

He’ll be there, down an ancient well folk used for keeping dreams. Light will shine inside if he’s working. Creep up, mousy-quiet; look. You’ll see him.

Stringing wishes.
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Lonely Snowman ~ Stephane Farenga

From the asylum comes wailing, not unlike that which his memory conceals—shattered though it may be. As pine trees thicken, heavy footsteps become louder, barely audible above gusting winter winds.

“Leave me be!”, rattles snow off barren branches. But he is alone.

Lightning cracks mighty trunks ahead, sparking into flame, halting all progress.
Two eyes glow amidst blinding whiteness, burning strong.

“Go back whence you came stranger. Your fate awaits”.

“My bane has been vanquished! Stand back cruel spirit!”

“Very well”.

They say one needs a soul to traverse this forest, yet no tracks lead beyond its fallen leaves.
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Gonna Fly ~ Jean Pierre de Rosnay

Arms aching from exertion, our hero does another round of pull ups. Muscles gleam under cold Danish sunlight. Next some bench presses using wooden beams; sweat soaking an indigo tunic. Music is pumping through his ears, giving inspiration, “getting strong now…!”.

Outside, trudging through snow, shoulders strain against leather straps attached to a snowplough. Legs and back burn. Thereafter two laps around Elsinore’s grounds. Almost there…

Finally up those steps; reaching the top Hamlet thrusts two arms aloft!

…

“You will lose this wager, my lord.”

“I do not think so: since he went into France, I’ve been in continual practise.”
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Rescue at Sea ~ Mary Anderson

She sat waiting…hours, days, years…memory failed. Feeling power returning to limbs that could no longer swim, strength magically present in arms, lips, lungs which had tried giving back life. Wind lifted hair tendrils; salt seeped into every pore. Sea mingling with tears on her stony face. Waves crashed, controlling every heartbeat, at odds against sounds of silhouetted helicopters coming closer. Taking away love, hope. Now failure was complete. Strangers lifting him, moving the curl off his pale, wet forehead. Panic. A scream engulfing, growing inside until released by beautiful, black sleep from latex hands and medicine laden syringes.
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Twilight Journey ~ Kim

Fluttering wings backpedaled fruitlessly, gaining no traction as Helsbeth, High Queen Dragonfly, slid downward, cascading over obsidian paths, spiraling round the glittering, monstrous, funnel.

Below, yawning with ferocious lava-formed teeth, a maw, inky darkness. One thousand revolutions, or more, until she’d greet Karma’s doorman.

Death. It had come unexpectedly. Uninvited. Too soon.

Now, rushing towards judgment by royal gauntlet, she knew. Shattered stones and knife sharp crags folded like origami, molding her path.

Failure. Its bitter breath caressed mortal cares, propelled dying limbs through final flight. Redemption lie only in accepting faintly whispered promises of being reborn to try again.
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Night Love ~Charlotte Scadeng, aka Charlotte de Rosnay

“Wake up!” shaking her boyfriend from his slumber. But deep dark sleep holds tight.

Memories…cornfields…encouraging attention. Springtime smells in an English countryside. Deceptive possibilities. While lovers slept, she slowly died within. Stomach first, evolving to accept its new diet. Mind’s demise, withdrawing as all physical changes take hold. Skin so white, teeth sharpened, and lastly those lost, soulless eyes. Blackened possession.

Grabbing again, leaning into flesh, whispering sweet nothings. Instead biting, stealing dangerous, syrupy blood. Licking. Drinking. Dancing with death.

Awaking, he embraced their love.

“Finally”, said the Prince of Darkness. A smile, captivating; enigmatic – surpassing desire itself.
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Jaden’s Nakaya ~Chris Howard

His eyes shifted to an egg shell white – pupil and iris removed. Jaden was tranced.

He re-appeared where childhood ended. That dark memory when imagination could no longer play the savior.

It had worked until then.

Couldn’t face pain…always running…

Wicked thoughts awoken Nakaya, my bright world…I’m safe here, free. There are others – some like me, winged creatures, sparkling nymphs, things of water who create mystical sounds…All stolen away.

Bang…blood…sirens…funeral…

…It’s time to grow up…

…Gotta be the big boy…

Kaya’s gone forever…innocence lost…thrown into adulthood.

I have a choice in this.
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Untitled ~ Ella Lesatele

Of course, omens occurred. Elderly cousins, reunioning by Pickle Park, observed bears wading into Union Pond in hulking, dark brown rows– not after fish, but something else they couldn’t see. Young Thomas Spikehurst made four videos showing purple lights dancing skyward near moonrise. At Ferry Brook Junkyard (“U Break, I Buy”) sudden fire consumed Potter’s three wrecked Chevy Novas and his second-best tractor. Even East Village Cemetery’s marble angels, standing glumly along their wrought-iron gateposts, were seen weeping sooty tears. Yet people seemed surprised when Old Testament rains came, bursting the dam, washing Kippsville away with a single sixteen-foot wave.
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Untitled ~ Fence

She wants to speak but silence reigns. He sits opposite, eating, fork piercing meat, spearing vegetables. Every movement swift, controlled. Resentful.

The softest of sighs escapes Sarah’s lips; Luke’s eyes flicker in response. That glance becomes an accusation. Quiet rage builds. Overflows. One innocent word slips out, more follow, unwillingly loosing anger. Raised voices list faults long ignored. Pain creates fury. Words, now transformed into weapons, are hurled leaving unseen
wounds bleeding. Suffering they both attack.

Then suddenly, mumbling some half-apology, his finger reaches out, brushes her hand, seeking forgiveness. Reconciliation.

Yet, hidden by a broken smile, hurt lives on.
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Untitled ~Debi (probably most famous on this site for being Annie’s mother!)

If only Amariah had heeded that insistent inner voice portending disaster ahead. “Lacking impulse control”, mother was fond of saying. Daddy, always sporting a positive outlook, called it “spontaneity”. I simply thought, though didn’t utter aloud, “bratty”.

Little Ammie, never labeling herself, merely dove headlong into whatever caught her fancy, whether prudent or not. Regret at no time factored in. You get just one life. This philosophy worked for ten years…why change now?

So we weren’t surprised by what transpired…

Jumping over all those glorious pages filled with wondrous words and delightful ideas, she read the final chapter first.
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……the envelope please…….

Father, by Elaine “Quixotical” Hughes!!!

Congratulations! If you forgot what the winning prize is, you can check out the booty over here.

In second place, and winner of a copy of the Duirwaigh Gallery DVD artbook (also one part of the grand prize):

Fence, for “She wants to speak but silence reigns.”

And tied for third and winners of a mysterious Stainless Steel Droppings Envelope O’ Goodies:

Debi, for “If only Amariah…”

and

Ursa Major by Nathan Waddell

The entries were all so good that I had to add second and third place prizes and I wish I could award you all something as I loved reading each story. Thank you all again for your participation.

Send an email with your address to me at: cvincent68@comcast.net

I will email you back confirming receipt of address and shipping date.

Have a wonderful Thursday everyone, and keep telling your stories.