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[Awayfarer]

I feel like I'm cheating if I critique others without posting a little bit of my own writing.

Post your stories of 500 words or less in here. The limit might seem kind of harsh, but it's a good way to tighten your prose.

I threw this together in about 30 minutes. Word count: roughly 300


Wishfish

   While fishing at the lake, up to my knees in the water, I caught a rainbow-hued catfish that talked. I told it I would let it go if it granted me a wish and it said in a gravelly voice, “Kid, nobody ever got anything worth a damn by wishing for it.”
   “What do you mean?” I asked.
   “You won’t have earned whatever I give you,” the fish responded.
   “I don’t mind.”
   “Suit yourself.”
   “I want a woman,” I said.
   “So do I,” replied the fish.
   “I beg your pardon?”
   “So do I. I would also like a woman, or a female at least. It’s spawning season.”
   “Don’t you grant wishes?”
   It flapped back and forth. “Nope. Do you?”
   “Er, no” I said.
   “I’m just an ordinary talking fish,” it gasped, “please put me back, I’m dying here.”
   “You haven’t given me anything.”
   “Who says I even can give you anything, and why do you deserve it?” the fish wheezed. “You want something in exchange for not killing me? You’re a blackmailer, and a criminal. What if I gave you a woman? What would you tell her? That you’re together because you didn’t kill a living, thinking, even loving, creature? You won’t get her without an ugly mark on your conscience.”
   I stared the fish in the eyes. Its mouth opened and shut in a rhythm, the tail with its radiant yet dimming scales curled one way, then the other. His body was dry. It now glimmered so much the less than when I had first picked him up. He gave a gasp and I plunged him back in the water, where he sluggishly circled my legs. “Do you need anything?” I asked, but by the time I had finished the sentence the shining fish was already swimming away towards the deep, dark center of the lake.

[Idiom]

Needs more hookers.

I'm not much of one for in your face moral stories, and honestly think very good stories come from stories with much more indiscernible moral grey areas that challenge your own... but that's really well written. I'd expect it in a children's book ala Aesop's Fables.

I'm no writer, so I can't give you any technical critique, but have a pat on the back. They're free*.

[Awayfarer]

((2nd effort. 378 words))

Thursday, 2:11 AM. I exit Larry's Diner on the corner of Third and Main, cup a cigarette in my palm and light it with a match from a half-crumpled book I picked up at The Golden Lady earlier. I'm drunk, but I'm responsible so I walk home.

And while the buildings did sway back and forth like they were blown in the wind, and the streetlights looked like they were something out of a funhouse mirror, I know, I damn well know what I saw as I approached Montgomery Park.

Four little children in their Sunday school best; two boys, two girls, couldn't have been older than seven. Pale, but not so much that you would make anything of it. It was dark, I was drunk, it took a minute for the scene to really clear.

Four little children, three of them still kneeling by a skinny scarecrow hobo with his chest torn open and his innards strewn about like straw. His eyes glassy. The look on the kids faces was one of joy. You could see it on any kid at play in any town.

But caked on their fingers and mouths was blood. One of the little boys walked to me as I stood frozen. Still smiling, the gnawed heart still held in his hands he said as the following as easy as if he were giving directions to a lost man, "Keep moving mister. It's not safe after dark."

A tightness went through my ribs and and buried itself in my heart. Then as if dragged by a harpoon I was pulled down the road by nothing in particular. I walked home and climbed into bed. Sleep washed over me in an instant.

I went to the cops as soon as I woke up, and they investigated even though (or maybe because) I reeked of booze. There were signs of a struggle alright, but they never found any dead hobo or any kids. They think it was the whiskey. I don't drink anymore. Kids scare the hell out of me now. And when I see the sun getting low in the sky I always close and lock the windows to my tiny apartment, draw the heavy shades and turn on every last light I own.

[mendonca]

I am quietly impressed. A whole story with a beginning, middle and end in 300 odd words.

I really enjoyed the first story. To me, obvious morality tales are made all the better by 'ordinary talking fishes'.

I will try and contribute cos I think this is a good idea for a thread, although I wrote this a few weeks ago so it doesnt fit the brief perfectly

The Significant Events in the Day of the Life of a Goat (312 words)

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

He stood dead still, looking out to the hazy horizon. Wisps of vapour rose from the grass as the morning sun hit the dew. His mouth was chewing idly on a mouthful of the refreshing grass, which was lush with the new growth of spring. After thirteen steps he parked adjacent to a rather large, gritstone boulder, left here by giants many years ago. He rubbed his right flank against the abrasive lichen coating, grinding against the tiny wounds left by his long-term parasitic companions. With a glance to his left he quickly assessed the surroundings, and a longer more considered look confirmed he was alone on this hill.

He chewed.

His mind was occupied with the state of the grass. He had been through the passing of twelve seasons since he could remember. He was looking forward to two full moons before the grass started to dry out and lost the pure freshness it exhibited today. Happiness was a hill bursting with green, green grass.

He chewed some more.

He was all of a sudden a little bit unsettled by his lack of company. He liked to have a few companions within eyesight. Too few and the wolves would pick them off. He didn’t know what a wolf was, or if they were real. The feeling of a wolf was very real, and as he sat there on his own on top a lush, green hill at dawn, he felt that there was a wolf. He hopped from his back legs and skipped round the rock. On the other side, down the side of the hill, were two of his cousins. He didn’t recognise them from here, but his heart slowed back down a beat and the wolf disappeared. He slowed back to a trot and then stopped. He tilted his head down and took a mouthful of grass.

He chewed.

[bjlong]

(Excellent work! I'll try something myself. Not that it's anything especially good, but it was a useful exercise. 260 words.)

A butterfly fluttered by me, right by my face. Yellow wings caught my eyes--a monarch. Flying south, no doubt, to find a mate.

The sinking sun was somewhat before her, and she skimmed the green grass, casting a stark shadow below her. She landed on a flower and started drinking nectar, her shadow beside and below her, for a few fleeting instants, breathless. It was like an old photograph, with the colors melding together, a moment of togetherness.

I wouldn't have looked further, but the girl I was meeting was late, just late, and I had nothing better to do. Phone was on in case she had to call and cancel again. No need to check it again. That would have been clingy, and I was trying hard not to be.

The butterfly took off, the shadow trailing behind, tethered to the ground. She flew up, a thing of glinting, golden beauty, and fluttered about a nearby pond, looking for something. The shadow seemed wanting, now, yearning. If shadows had voices, he would have called to her. Her reflection passed near him, light and dark playing over one another's surfaces--but it wasn't real, just a stupid fantasy. He was close--if he could just get a little closer, just had a chance to make things right...

What time had she said she'd be here? So she was thirty minutes late, and no call?

I looked up, and she had flown away, leaving her shadow behind, until it faded away.

Got dinner alone. Guess I saved money that way.

[IndonesiaWarMinister]

You know what? I thought this was a Flash-making thread at first.

If it is, I would make one, just for the lulz (my art skillz sucks)

[Psyco Jelly]

The grey-robed man walked down the sandy passage between the mountains, not certain of his destination. His eyes were bleary from an entire night of walking. His head was marked with a black triangle within a circle, the mark of a blasphemer.

A rustling came from a nearby desert shrub. he turned his gaze toward the noise, though he doubted anything other than a starving coyote would actually attack him. Instead, he was greeted by a bright shimmering, and a battle cry. He sidestepped--barely.

It was an armored warrior, bearing the holy sigil around his neck. "Prepare to die, demonspawn!"

The blasphemer fell to the second blow, a horizontal slash across the chest. He coughed up a small amount of blood, and told the knight: "Remember, holy one, I have had a slip of the tongue, and you have slain a man." He coughed. "Who bears more weight on the scales?"

[Awayfarer]

@Mendonca: I enjoyed that. The simple, flitting from thought to thought perspective is really effectively portrayed. My only criticisms would be that the language could stand to be dialed back a bit: some areas seem a bit fancy for the description of what a goat is thinking. That and there are a few too many sentences beginning with "he". I know it sounds like a nitpick but you can really bring a scene to life if you give agency to other items.

Take the line, "His mind was occupied with the state of the grass." You can give the same meaning with something like "The state of the grass occupied his mind." This avoids making the main character, protagonist, narrator, or center of focus the subject of every sentence, which gets repetitive.

Once again, I liked this. 

[Little]

I'll post one of my ancient ones...

The Legend of Captain Drake
By Little

This is a story told a thousand times, mostly to small children before bedtime. Most would call it just a scare story, but it is not. Andrew Drake did exist. He did mysteriously go missing. And no one knows why. Many claimed mutiny. Some claimed insanity. More still claimed navigation errors. But the thing that really made them disappear was another legend, which also turned out to be all too real…

Captain Andrew Drake yawned. He took another sip from his compact warming thermos, filled with a cheap brand of coffee. It was another long shipment of high-end electronics through the notorious forbidden zone. Andrew Drake lacked (some said to a foolish extent) the almost superstitious fear that made other traders avoid this place. But going through the forbidden zone cut down travel times by almost half, and that had made him incredibly rich. He had bought bigger ships, more crew and more guards, and even two large escort cruisers to protect him and his ship. You could never be too careful with all the Charlish Pirates around.

A sudden jarring awoke him. The ship had braked rapidly.

An officer of his yelled loudly: "Asteroid ahead! Ship has been stopped! What are your orders?"

Andrew Drake buzzed the ship’s intercom and said: "Put three locaters on it. We can come back later and mine it."

He intently watched the three orbs shoot out the front of the ship and slam into the asteroid.

Suddenly, the lights went out with a faint pop. An inhumane and slightly robotic voice came over the intercom.

"Hello, trespassers. You have launched a projectile attack on a Monta weapons platform. We give you thirty standard seconds to enter the correct authorization code."

The emergency lights flicked on. Captain Drake screamed in confusion: "What authorization code!?"

And then it happened. The asteroid split down the middle with a crack that could not be heard through the wide vacuum of space. It opened wide, revealing the thousand, tens of thousands of missiles, pointing straight into the vastness of space that the ships occupied. A massive sea of green lights flicked above each and every missile. Then the lights above the missiles went out for ten seconds. The ship was silent except for faint beeps from computer consoles, each crew member staring out a window silently. Then, above three missiles, a red light turned on. The missiles engines blared loudly as the deadly projectiles flew towards the three ships. The crew of the escort ships and the main ships hardly had time to blink before the missiles accelerated. One impact registered on each ship's external sensors for a fraction of a second before the explosion. The ships blew apart. There were no survivors…

The asteroid closed slowly, guarding the edges of a vast civilization that no longer existed. It was guarding pointlessly, but that didn't register on the automated computers controlling the missiles. When it had finally closed a few moments later, it went into stealth mode, endlessly waiting for the next impact……

[deadlycairn]

I like this, I might try to rattle something together shortly.

[umiman]

One night, when I was around 11 years old, I was half-awake / half-asleep in my room. It was a green bed and the blankets were off because it was so humid and hot. I kept tossing and turning because it was nearly impossible to sleep from the heat but I was too tired to do anything else. The spinning ceiling fan was not enough and I was sweating like mad. Then I realized... why was it hot in the first place? I had an air conditioner. It was on. It should be cold! And it's the middle of the night!

Then I heard some footsteps close to my bed and my heart started racing. Something ran its fingers on the edge of my bed and started tapping them. It turns out that I lost track of time and my mother had actually turned off the air conditioner to save electricity and wanted to wake me up for school.

[mendonca]

@Mendonca: I enjoyed that. some areas seem a bit fancy for the description of what a goat is thinking. That and there are a few too many sentences beginning with "he".

Thanks for taking the time to read and comment.

And yeah, reading it again, I agree with you.