Monday, September 2, 2013


WELCOME BACK!!! I'm so excited to see what your brilliant minds create from the sentence today! If you need to read the full version of the rules, go here. Otherwise, here's the short version:

1. Up to 500 words
2. Keep it clean (nothing rated R or above)
3. Start with the given first sentence.
4. Optional Special Challenge
5. Include Twitter/email, word count, Special Challenge accepted

Oh, and feel free to change pronouns, punctuation, tense, and anything in brackets to fit the story/pov/tone. I'm not going to be TOO picky... Our judge however...

Our Judge today is Rebekah Postupak also known as @postupak (and her contest acct @FlashFridayFic)Go check out her blog here (Where she hosts the Flash!Friday! flash fiction contest every Friday (just in case that wasn't clear...)). Read her winning tale from last week here!

Your first sentence for FINISH THAT THOUGHT #9 is:

If [she] had known [he] would be there again, [she] would've brought [her] [magic wand].

 Your SPECIAL CHALLENGE from the judge is:

Include at least one original verse of poetry (4 lines)



  1. Dessert

    If I had know he would be there again, I would’ve brought my dragon. Instead, I found myself pondering the idea of reshaping a certain part of his anatomy with my boot heel, which was clearly not a polite thing to do to a wizard.

    Do you have any idea how difficult it is to hide a pair of six feet tall butterfly wings coming out of your back, and a pair of six-inch tall ears shaped like a Star Trek Vulcan’s, just to go out for apple pie and vanilla ice cream one night a month?

    He’d been there last month. “Karen! So good to see you!” The man told endless stories of fixing things the humans screwed up every day. “I had to turn on the brakes in Tom’s car so he didn’t plow into the side of some lady’s mini-van, and boot her munchkins out the other side. I swear that idiot can’t drive!” He’d rambled on and on. “Frank went to the meeting yesterday, and left his presentation on his desk. I transferred it to his briefcase, so he would have it when he got there. He’s always doing things.”

    I’d tried to concentrate on my pie and ice cream. It was Häagen-Dazs vanilla. I’d looked forward to it all month. A quiet evening, watching humans interact, while I relished mixing the flavors of two of their most amazing creations. Even with all my fairy magic, I couldn’t bake apples, let alone get the mix of cinnamon and sugar right. I’d tried. My apple pies came out more like scorched black frisbees.

    And there he sat, at my table, drinking glasses of water, rambling on about how screwed up the humans were. “I cry every time I see them put another 500 sheets of paper in a printer. When I think of all the trees they’ve destroyed to print 50 copies of a report no one ever reads, I cry.”

    Oh, I knew about that. You try caring for forests when the humans are chopping down trees left and right to make paper. Wizards. I’d tried to block him out, ignore him. I’d failed. He’d wrecked my peaceful evening. I’d had to fly to the oceanfront, and watch the sunrise to calm down.

    And there he was, going to ruin my apple pie and ice cream again. I tried so hard to ignore him as he marched right up to my table. “Karen.” He didn’t sit down. “It has occurred to me, I owe you an apology.” He frowned. “I interrupted your desert last month.”

    I just stared at him. He pulled his right hand from behind his back, and set a dish of apple pie and ice cream on my table. “I’m sorry.”

    As he started to leave, I asked him to have a seat, and ordered apple pie and ice cream for him.

    I wonder what will happen when I go out for dessert next month.

    494 Words

    1. It's good to smile first thing in the morning--thank you!


  2. Quid Pro Quo

    If I’d known he’d be there again, I’d have brought the money.
    Guess it’s bad manners to employ a professional killer then not pay him.
    I’d see exactly how pissed off he was by what weapon he had brought. I reached for the switch.
    “Don’t touch that. Some things are best in darkness. Just like your poor wife’s... accident.”
    My shaky hand dropped away.
    “Jon. About the money...”
    “...I’ve been thinking about that. What would you say to a proposition?”
    “You do something for me - and you don’t need to worry about the money again.”
    “Do something?”
    “Yes. I want you to kill someone.”
    “Me. I want you to kill me.”

    So, that’s why I’m wheeling a gurney out of the mortuary at 2am.
    Oh, killing Jon? That was the easy part.
    I phoned him. He became an emergency admission when I’m on call.
    I told Geraldine, the night nurse, I’d attend to this patient. She was always looking for quiet time to write.
    Jon shook my hand before I gave him the injection. By the time Geraldine heard the alarms and wandered in, Jon was dead.
    She took his pulse and called me.
    A massive myocardial infarction – a heart attack to the uninitiated – a quick squiggle on a death certificate, job done.
    “Some people just live life too hard. Tough on a fairly young guy though.”
    She peered at me.
    “We all pay for all our sins one day
    For evil does not wash away
    Though smooth the road for mile on mile
    Beware the final Serpent’s Smile”
    “Yeah, right. Nice one Gerry.”
    I finished the paperwork and sketched a goodbye wave at Geraldine, still mumbling her gloomy, night-time poems

    I had discovered the current admin password for the clinic computer system, and, once in the basement mortuary, swapped Jon’s records with another recent stiff. I pushed him out along the deserted corridor.
    I checked the loading bay. Periodically we had to call the cops when some junkie remembered there were drugs inside, and figured this quiet place might be their way in.
    I unzipped the body bag and gave Jon another shot.
    He stirred, then sat up, stretching his recently paralysed muscles, before hopping onto the concrete floor.
    I handed him the bag of new clothes.
    Dressed, he reached out his hand.
    “A black Dodge truck, just around the corner.” I flipped him the keys. The catch showed his reactions had recovered.
    “The cops will buy it?”
    “Trust me. You’re dead. Buried later this week.”
    “Thanks Pal.”
    He reached out his hand again.
    As we shook, he pulled me towards him. Off balance, I slumped against him. His left hand snaked behind me. I felt a sharp jab in my neck.
    Falling away, I saw him pocket the bloody scalpel.
    “Just another attack by a junkie. Tragic. But no-one stiffs me on a contract.”
    He smiled down.
    “I’m a man of my word. I promised you’d never again worry about the money you owed me.”

    500 words

    1. Oops! Special Challenge accepted - sorry :-)

  3. Diabolical! And I really like Geraldine.

    1. I like her too. A Goth nurse - what's not to like! :-)

  4.; 435 Words


    If I had know He would be here again, I would have sported my crosier. Obviously, He needed a real dose of who was boss up in this club. Which was me, by the way. Not that DJ SheKe7 needs to prove his worth to nobody, but this dude just wasn't recognizing.

    See, when I lay down the beats and scratch the albums, I rule this club. I am a turntablist par excellence and I dictate the flow. People come to my club to dance to my sets. My crossfades, my samples and my hooks move the room. I create waves of undulating humanity as I pump my fist from my glittering pedestal. Every jerk and sway is respect for my skills. This is my life and I preside.

    So, I obviously did not need this punk steppin' in my house and turning my tables. This hayseed from podunk nowhere in His crocs and goodwill,Hhis decidedly creepy facial hair and this aura like He owns the club. My club.

    And then He starts dancing.

    Sure, He's been here before, and He's always rubbed me crosswise, but He's never gone this far before. He's chatted a few people up, bought a few drinks and stirred up a little ire with the regulars, but He hasn't set a foot on the dance floor. So, He's been tolerated. Not liked, but everybody has a right to spend their cheddar at my well.

    But, this time is different. This time rowdy steps His plastic shoes on my pristine dance floor and starts moving to the beat. But He's not moving to my beat.

    You know how a song can come out and it's dope and people like it; but then, someone does a remix that everybody seems to latch onto. It's in commercials or viral videos and it becomes the dominant version. And then the original song plays and everyone wonders who did this new cover.

    It's like this guy only knows the original. And even when I skritch out my bass-thumping, booty popping hybrid, He still hears the archetype. And He dances to those primary rhythms. He doesn't match my beats, but his dancing is still hypnotic. People gawk. They are drawn in by this original, who isn't cutting my rug, but His movements still seem to fit, to coalesce. As if, this is what dancing is supposed to look like.

    He's cramping my style. He's drawing the others away from me. So, I grease a bouncer's palm with thirty bucks, and have Him thrown to the curb, perhaps a little too violently. But this is my house.

    1. Thanks, by the way, for posting early. It helped me to coalesce my thoughts overnight.

    2. Great job - a really strong, singular voice that carries the tale confidently and surely. Really strong!

    3. Love the voice and the subject. Great piece!

    4. Congratulations, Penname, on a tale well told!!

  5. If I had known I would be here again, I would have brought my spell book. This would happen while I'm at a doctor's appointment. Well, I'll just have to wing it. Let's see, how did that ward spell go?

    In the western tower the bell tolls three, you will not get another warning from me.

    One would think a witch would know better than to cast a persuasion spell against another witch, especially one of my particular ability. No matter. If she didn't know before, she soon will. You'd think a witch would know better than to cast a love spell in the first place. Love simply cannot be forced. Meddling fool, playing a game she cannot possibly understand with dire consequences she must be unaware of. Or maybe she does know what will happen.

    For the love spell to work against one who is already in love, their beloved would have to die. Who would willingly allow a man to die simply so they could have his wife? I'll have to weave some element of protection in, my brilliantly sterile surroundings should suffice. Who needs white candles when you have white walls, white chairs and bright white lights? Yes, this exam room will do nicely.

    Now to figure out which is the east wall. Just so happens it's the wall with the single window. I can see my silver van from here, the glint of the sun burns past my eyes and deep into my skull. Close your eyes, Midge. Focus.

    In the western tower the bell tolls three, you will not get another warning from me.
    In your mindless meddling you forgot one thing, even innocent intentions have feral wings.
    Withdraw your mark, lest the arrow flies and the one you love, loves the one who dies.
    A love so sought has greater cost, than what you're after, the object lost.

    There. That should do it. At three this afternoon, she'll get the only warning I'm inclined to send. Oh, this damn headache is only getting worse.

    Wait a second, why would a witch send a love spell against another, more powerful witch, without cloaking it? At the very least, she should have disguised it as something else. Unless I wasn't the intended target.

    The walls shouldn't be spinning. I shouldn't be falling. The room shouldn't be so dark.

    392 Words
    Special Challenge, accepted.


    If she had known he would be there again, she would have brought her magic wand to cast her spell. Now she must rely on her voice and call upon her Bardic training to sooth and calm the beast of Greenwich in order to slip past him to the caves of inner sight.

    She began with a light hum while she was still a few hundred yards away so as to not startle the creature. And then, just as her eyes caught his, she opened her full red lips and sang:

    Sacred fires of the earth
    Come witness your children’s spiritual birth
    Mighty waters, rushing wind
    Free their spirits from within

    Her voice rang out like a choir of angels and melted his heart of stone. The twelve foot monstrosity swayed to the rhythm of Ashlynn’s voice while he gazed into her crystalline eyes. She could see that he was slipping into a hypnotic trance.

    “Your eyes, my Lady, are as soothing as the gentle waves of the ocean, the waters of life, I love. They dance when you sing.”
    Ashlynn continued with her song of life:
    Anoint their eyes, visions to see
    Pour out your spirit of prophecy

    She watched as this accursed giant slipped into a quiet reverie. “Remember when times were good. When man was at peace with the world around him and lived in oneness with all of creation. We can have that again oh gentle giant, if you will grant me passage into the caves of inner sight.” Ashlynn continued her song:

    Yod, Hey, Vav, Hey
    You are the Mighty Ancient of Days
    Yod, Hey, Vav, Hey
    You speak the word, creation obeys

    “Are you an angel, my Lady? You must be an angel. For before you, no man has dared to stand before me as you have and to impart a gift of peace. Peace I had forgotten was possible. I was not always this hideous monstrosity. There was a time…long ago…when I was beautiful.”

    “Oh creature of Greenwich, what is your name so that I may restore you to a thing of beauty? Just let me pass to the caves of inner sight. The time of evil men has reached its fullness and I must enter the caves before the rising of the full moon.”

    “My Lady, my name is Asher ben Emeth.”
    “Asher, son of Truth, I give you my word that you shall be restored to your former beauty this night, while the moon is high and the sun is low and darkness shall be no more.”

    “Blessed Lady, you may enter, and when you have risen I shall be your knight in shining armor till the end of time.”

    1. There is a couple of places where the spacing didn't copy over correctly and I don't see an edit button. Is there a way to fix this, or do I need to delete this and repost?

    2. I don't have the ability (that I know of) to edit the posts. You can either post a correction in the comments or delete and repost. Sorry.

  7. Garden Princess

    If she had known he would be there again, she would have brought her magic wand. But she did not expect him, not in her secret garden. She had been extremely vigilant of the garden. The garden, enclosing the temple of The Good Witch Mother, was colorful, not to mention sweetly fragrant. The flowers, swaying in cool breeze gently caress her every morning. Butterflies and humming birds invite singing cuckoos to the garden. She wakes up to their melody. Her days are filled with joyful dancing with wanton winds, frolicking with the flowers in full bloom, singing with the songbirds.

    It wasn’t always this way. Once, all she had was a derelict piece of land at the outskirts of the village, forsaken by one and all. The skeletons of the condemned were buried in the dirt there. The owls had made their homes in the desolate trees. The ravens croaked at all hours of the day. It was her heritage, the legacy of her ancestors.

    It was in this desolate abode, he first spotted her in a bright mustard colored dress, wandering aimlessly about. He gave her a look of disapproval, but she was too engrossed in her songs to notice it. She, however, noticed his strong shadow and instantly fell in love. She followed him like a lost puppy. One fine evening, he realized that she would make a great obedient wife and yielded to her loving eyes.

    It was a grave mistake. Her wild ways infuriated him. While her abandon in the wild was alluring, it did not suit his rigid upbringing and jealous rage. So, just as readily he had accepted her, he deserted her to her ancestor’s land to waste away. And then she transformed the land into her secret garden, sang and danced all day. The news reached his ears through the travelers who were delighted to watch her sing and dance. His fury surpassed all his previous outbursts. He had never felt such a loss of control before.

    She did not know anything was amiss until she heard that familiar thunder of his voice. ”Violet, how dare you?” Stunned, she turned around to face his extended arm with a flashing dagger in his hand. Only if she had known, she would have summoned her Good Witch Mother with her magic wand. All she had now was her chant. She summoned her strongest voice and chanted.

    Oh Good Mother, my divine muse,
    Let the flowers yield their hues --
    Pleasing yellows, reds, and blues,
    Ready to act on the divine cues.

    Then she closed her eyes, and prayed silently. The flowers swayed, releasing the secret odor setting off the ravens in the furious wind. His dagger flew away and ravens devoured him.

    The Good Witch Mother smiled upon her daughter-in-law, now a happy widow.

    469 words
    Special challenge accepted.

  8. Qara – 495 words
    Challenge Accepted

    If Hayah had known Sharr would be there again, she would’ve brought her vengeful tigress. But she didn’t know that and now she has to think of something else.


    “From a blue-burning flame,
    She was created and born,
    A woman the world will know her name,
    One who succeeds The Last Unicorn.

    A Seeker, who will only truth demand;
    A Keeper of the secrets known and unknown to man;
    A Defier, who in the face of injustice will always stand;
    A mighty Mage-woman with powers grand.”

    “It’s all a bunch of bullshit if you ask me!”
    “Be quiet Mared! You’ll get us all in trouble!”
    “Trouble? With what? I don’t know how you could honestly believe in all this hocus-pocus Mia – all of you for that matter!”
    “Mia is a right Mared. Do not let others’ hope wane and waiver because you do not believe in the prophecies.” The Wise old man told the young man calmly. “Perhaps, one day this woman will come to rid us of the injustice that has devoured our lands and children,” the old man thought out loud.
    Mared humphed as he looked the other way.

    They were all sitting in the temple a little before midnight. It had been a rough morning for all. Even the elements seemed to be working against the people of Qara; the scorching sun drove its rays into their backs as they plowed the land. It made the animals restless and the people weary.

    Mared, Mia and the others could not remember a day so hot like that morning. They could not remember either a time when they could run about freely, go swimming and have fun. Even the lake harboured a monster that devoured any who swam far from the shore.

    Mia looked at the ancient prophecy carved on the wall. She bent back and her head in a prayer-like crouch and whispered to the prophecy “Please O Seeker of Truth and Defier of the Injustice, please hear my plea. Relieve us of our misery. We were pure-hearted once, but the darkness, evil and pain that we have endured have made us weak and unpure. Please hear my plea.”

    “Time to go my children. Get your rest for the sun will always rise and there will always be work ahead of us,” the old man called out. There was a chatter of disagreement for the temple was on the only place people felt safe. Its air and stone floor and walls were cool to rest on. It gave this feeling of being at home and away from the all the tyranny of the world outside its walls.

    “Come on, Mia,” Mared said as she stood running her hands on the words of the ancient prophecy.

    Mia spoke true. The people of Qara were not bad people by nature. But after years of injustice and poverty many had become thieves, liars and spies. And yet, there were still some who believed in goodness.

  9. Incomplete Discovery

    If Alana had known David would be there again, she would’ve brought the books she found in the Wardville Archives. She wasn’t expecting to see him until that evening at her house once he was done at his worksite. As it was, she only had copies of the pages she thought were the most important. They would have to be enough for now.

    Momma’s Kitchen where they normally hung out while they worked through the mystery of Alana’s family and what the Destroyers wanted from her. They had breakfast at their usual small table in the back that morning. Alana was still at the same table, but had come and gone several times throughout the day in her trips back and forth from the Archives.

    “Hey, what are you doing here?” Alana asked, making room for him at the table, pushing aside her various papers and her half-eaten plate of food.

    “Dad kept shooing me away, telling me he could finish up just fine without my help,” David replied with a shrug and sat down next to her. “Plus, I think he is more worried about what is going on with the Destroyers’ attacks than he is letting on.”

    “Oh, really? Why? He sounded so relaxed when we were at your parents’ house the other night.” Alana started rubbing her triskele pendant, a habit she found herself doing more and more.

    “He’s just acting weird, not like himself. Tense. Asks about you constantly.”

    Alana looked at David with concern etched across her face. “So what does that mean? Does he think we’re going to lose?”

    “No, not exactly…”

    “That’s not encouraging,” Alana said flatly, roughly grabbing the top piece of paper from the messy stack and pulling away from David.

    “Just being honest. He’s got a different mindset about how to handle this, how to handle the Destroyers than we do. However, he hasn’t seen the things we have.”

    “No, he certainly hasn’t,” she muttered, shivering as she remembered.

    David rubbed her arm and changed the subject. “Did you find out anything new today?”

    “Yes, you’re going to want to read this.” Alana replied, handing him the piece of paper.

    His eyes jumped across the page as he read aloud:

    “A-waiting, gath'ring o'er, an evil lurks
    For years will pass and storms will brew, to all
    to lead to confrontation's final test.
    To death, Destroyers fight before the Fall”

    David let the page drop to the table, his face stunned. “Is this what I think it is?”

    Alana nodded. “I think so. It’s the prophecy that we’ve been looking for all this time, but it doesn’t seem complete! Only one stanza and the bottom of the page is ripped. There has to be more.”

    “Where in the Archives was this?”

    “It was stuffed in the appendix of one of the family ledgers. I have no idea what book it was a part of originally.”

    “Then we’ll just have to keep looking. This is too important.”

    495 words

  10. If she had known it would be there again, she would have brought her magic wand. Honestly, how else does one deal with an eight-foot ogre who insists on eating all of your turnips? Placing neatly manicured hands on her petal-clad hips, she surveyed the damage done by her unwelcome guest as a frown tugged the corners of her pursed lips. Smashed squashes and tangled tomato vines littered what used to be meticulously laid rows of vegetables only hours before. Even her hardy carrots had been trampled underfoot by the clumsy brute which was now digging up her turnip bed with a stupid grin on its grotesque face.

    “Ooooo, I wish I could turn it into a frog!” she fumed. “It would serve Matilda right for not keeping her pet on a leash!” However, being only a pixie-in-training, Hetty knew she was no match for an angry witch, and so such thoughts flitted out of her head. Just when she had started to calm herself down, the gruesome creature began singing a ditty while squishing her turnips into jelly.

    “Happy ogre smash and crunch
    Little turnips for some lunch!
    Yummy, yummy for the tummy
    Turnip juice is very gummy---”

    “STOP RIGHT THERE!” Startled, the ogre turned its enormous head to blink its dull eyes at her as pink and purple sparkles shot out from Hetty’s ears, nostrils, and mouth then exploded like fireworks.

    “Those are my turnips, you nincompoop!” Hetty screeched, her freckled cheeks now purple with rage. “If I catch you in my garden one more time, I swear I AM going to turn you into a horrid little green frog and then your mistress will boil you in her cauldron!”

    But she might as well have said, “Gobblety-gook” for all the good it did. When the show was over, the ogre turned back to its feast and crushed a few more turnips into its mouth. Hetty was just about to storm back to her mushroom for her wand when a long nose snaked its way over her fence followed by a wide-brimmed black hat and drooping eyebrows.

    “Ah, there you are, Horace,” a smooth voice cooed. Immediately, the ogre struggled to its feet and trumped over to the fence, produce tumbling from its clothes like dead flies from a light fixture. “Are you helping nice Miss Hetty again?” the voice continued.

    “Helping?!?” Hetty squeaked, unable to say more.

    “We’re so lucky to have such an understanding neighbour like you, dearie,” Matilda crooned. “Ogres can be such a handful. You are so lucky to have a magic wand to fix all of your troubles.”

    Hetty found herself swayed by the enchanting words of the witch, “Yes, very lucky. Have a good day and be a good boy, Horace.” She waved them good-bye and waltzed back to her house. As soon as she closed the little wooden door behind her, the spell broke like a water balloon, dumping reality on her once more.

    “Darn witch magic!” she muttered.
    499 words, special challenge

  11. This comment has been removed by the author.

    1. I forgot the title the first time I posted. Sorry for all the posts. A little sleep-deprived this week.

  12. This comment has been removed by the author.

    1. Sorry, apparently I changed character names without realizing it. There are only two characters.

      "The Clearing"

      If she had known her mother would be there again, she would've brought her guitar. Her mother had fallen into such a melancholy since her father's passing, nothing cheered her save Leah's music. Leah shuffled her feet as she entered the clearing, alerting her mother to her presence, giving her a moment to compose herself. She saw a quick flash of white as her mother dabbed her face with a handkerchief. Her mother straightened her back and tucked the cloth away.

      “You know, your father loved poetry,” her mother said.

      Leah shrugged. “I had no idea.”

      “He even wrote some when we first met.”

      Leah joined her mother on the fallen redwood, and grasped her cold, wrinkled hand.

      “Tell me.”

      “He wrote silly things. Nothing worth remembering.”

      “But you remember. Tell me.”

      Her mother rubbed a thumb over Leah's knuckles and smiled a distant smile.

      “Happy Buddha
      Gently flowing stream
      Lush green foliage
      Yellow rubber snake,” she recited.

      Leah's lips curled up. Her father had looked for humor everywhere, fully welcoming it whenever the chance arose.

      After a long moment, her mother said, “I wrote something too.”

      Leah wished again that she had her guitar. “Can I hear it?”

      Her mother was slow to nod.

      “Wrapped in the embrace of your memory
      Your courage spurs me on.
      The echo of your laughter
      Fortifies my resolve.”

      When she finished speaking, Leah's mother closed her eyes and sat so still Kira thought she might have fallen asleep.

      “Mother? Are you alright?”

      Her mother opened her eyes and took a deep breath. “Yes, my dear. I'm feeling better now.”

      @MargitSage, 266 words, Special Challenge accepted

  13. Mila – 464 words

    If Mila had known Argo would be there again, she would’ve brought her Veritaserum*. The last time they met was her first and final attempt at love. Mila wasn’t like the other girls; she was half-human, half-dragon, but Argo didn’t know that. Had he known, he would have probably found someone else to mess with.
    Mila wanted answers and being a Warrior Dragon, it was truth or die, but because her human form denied her many of her dragon-qualities like seeing illnesses, sensing fear and most importantly reading her opponents’ eyes, she had to resort to her second truth-telling device; her Veritaserum.
    Her human friends Malika and Asha were going to this beach bar for some fun in the sun and a late night dance. They told her Argo would be there and that she should try to patch things up with him. She was silent of course.
    Who are they to tell Me what to and what no to do? He broke my heart and I have to “patch things up with him”? Yeah right! Keep dreaming you lot!
    Mila loved the sea but couldn’t have ‘her’ fun with all those people around. She liked to transform and glide in the salty water, letting it clean her silvery-blue scales. Taking her dragon-form in the water affected all creatures of the sea and the deep differently. Sharks didn’t dare come close, dolphins loved her and would often ask for her blessing, even the fish would sometimes give their lives willingly to be devoured by her, which made her feel terrible.
    But with all those humans basking under the sun, that dream would have to wait. So, she told her friends that she’ll drop in at sunset.
    It was a little before sunset came that Argo and a friend of his dropped in. Mila was nowhere to be seen, but could see them clearly. Her human eyes didn’t offer much but she luckily she had learnt to use her dragon-sight using her human eyes. Argo’s friend was a handsome young man but there was something strangely and dangerously familiar about him. Argo didn’t appear to be his usual funny self but that didn’t matter; not after Mila slipped in the Veritaserum anyway.
    Shortly after the two boys had settled at the bar along with Mishka, Asha and their new dates, Mila showed up.
    Her “Hi” made the two boys jump and turn instantly. Argo looked like he was about to choke on something while his friend stared at Mila with a questioning look.
    “Hi Argo,” she said coldly.
    “H-Hi Mila,” he stammered.
    Something was fishy but she wasn’t sure what, but didn’t like it either.
    “Th-This is M-Minter,” he said, introducing his friend.
    “Hi,” Mila said then turned back to Argo. “We need to talk!”

    *Veritaserum is a potion that makes the person who drinks it tell the truth. Taken from the Harry Potter books, copyright of J.K. Rowling.

  14. The Bully.
    If she had known he would be there again, she would've brought her magic wand. Her finger twitched, almost feeling it as she watched him, same as always, going through the room without letting anything get his way.

    She had known him for years, and she hated him. Her mum had told her never to hate anyone, but the feeling she felt were stronger than dislike and she couldn't think of another word. Her best friend teased that she must love him, but that was not the case.

    As he knocked over a little kid in his efforts to get to his destination, she wished for the power to zap her magic wand in her hand. One day, she would turn him into a toad or a rat or something really yucky. Maybe a slug, or better yet, a dust bunny so he would be sucked up the vacuum cleaner. But it was not to be. She didn't have that power.

    "If only I hadn't left it at home," she muttered, still watching him as he came ever closer. She should have known he would be there today and had come prepared, however it was unfortunate she didn't have the power for telling the future.

    CRASH. Now the eyes of everyone in the room were on him. He had knocked over a book case. Pretending he didn't notice he simply kept on his path. With a start, she realised that he was coming her way. With her wand at home, she scanned her immediate area to find a substitute, or a place to hide.

    Before she could find anything, a shadow fell over her. He had arrived. She looked up, doing her best to keep the fear out of her eyes. She knew he could sense fear in his targets and she was determined not to be one of them.

    He opened his mouth to say something, his face angry. Before he had a chance to speak, she picked up a wooden block and calmly dropped it on his toe. He screamed and ran off. Everyone started to laugh, especially those who had been hurt in some way as he walked across the room.

    She smiled, she didn't have her magic wand, but the wooden block was effective. Looking up, she saw the teacher stride across the room with the bully close behind. He was limping in an exaggerated way. Once again, she wished she had her magic wand with her. The teacher would look lovely as a butterfly. Her magic wand was a necessary tool for every girl in kindergarten.

    Twitter ID - @MissieK
    Wordcount - 431

  15. By Love Drawn

    If Derek had known he would be there again, he’d have bought his flamesword, Burnfang. In all fairness, the narrow confines of the catacombs would have made it an…impractical choice. He had no lack of experience in close combat and so would rely on the weapons best suited to that type of encounter. He reluctantly conceded, as well, that any concentration of forces requiring the lethality of Burnfang would probably have already harmed his beloved beyond any necessity of saving her.

    Running a hand along the dripping stonework, he smelled only the dankness, the decay, the rot and fetid unwholesomeness he had come to associate with the Dark Kind and their lairs…but nothing of her. The omnipresent darkness and closeness of his surroundings denied light and sound and there was, most certainly, nothing here he had any desire to taste.

    He quickened his pace, his desire to escape the odious surroundings with the only woman he had ever loved being undeniable. He braved the dangers, not for any promise of reward but, for the simple motivation of boundless love for her. That his success might, once and for all, cement his position as an acceptable suitor in the King’s eyes, though, was definitely a factor.

    An indescribable sense of foreboding from the chamber ahead gave him pause. Drawing his daggers from their oiled sheaths, he braced himself and inched slowly forward. Holding his breath without realizing he did so, he peered around the doorjamb. Only by dint of a life spent in martial training was he able to hold his emotions in check. A shout of rage died, unvoiced, in his throat. A slight trembling of his brawny hands and the track of a single salty tear down his cheek betrayed he felt anything at all.

    Bound securely to a crude chair, the organza dress was torn and rent nearly beyond recognition as such. Dried blood from half a hundred superficial wounds caked her body and the bloody welter that had been her slim throat gaped wide with a horrendous tear. Though her eyes were dull and lifeless, the frozen rictus of her expression bore mute testament her death had not been an easy one.

    Heedless of any threat, he strode forward. His dagger met little resistance as he cut the stained ribbon holding the cameo about her neck. It had been a present to her on her last birthday and had cost him a month’s pay. It did not belong here…in this place. Securing it in his belt pouch, he left the body behind; knowing it was but a husk. The spark that had made it his Belisandra had been snuffed out, never to be rekindled.

    His boot heels rang loudly on the floor as he abandoned all pretense of stealth. Cold rage replaced the fires of heroism. His final duty to his princess was clear. He would kill anything and everything he could find in this hellish warren before he returned home with word of her passing.

    500 words @klingorengi

  16. The Apprentice

    If she had known it would be there again, she would’ve brought her amulet.


    “Today?” Felkin asked.

    “Felkin, it’s only three day’s journey. You’ll have the best horse and the best company,” the king’s advisor stated.

    “But I HATE working for Brynn. He moves too slow. Not to mention he smells like ginger root and—“

    “You will go with Master Brynn and you will question my orders no more. Now, pack. You’re wasting daylight.”

    “We HAVE wasted enough time,” Master Brynn breathed, entering the court unnoticed. Felkin’s ears blushed.

    The mage and the handmaid began, crossing the farmlands and approaching Darkwood. Felkin’s stomach fluttered as she looked at the towering pines, the heavy briars. The farmlands had brought her comfort; Darkwood’s mysteries toyed with her imagination: a shadow here, a snapping twig there.

    “It’s enchanted, you know,” Master Brynn finally stated after miles of silence, “And Darkwood feeds off of fear.”
    “How do we pass?”

    Master Brynn laughed, catching Felkin by surprise.

    “Pass?” he mused, “On horseback.”

    “But you said—“

    “I said it feeds off of fear:
    Master the mind ye must
    To make the forest’s pass
    But if the forest ye distrust
    This test will be your last

    “And if we pass through in terror?”

    “Try to control your thoughts. Even Raul can sense your apprehension, and he’s the dumbest ass in the kingdom.”

    Felkin snorted, unable to contain her reaction.

    “Much better,” Master Brynn smiled, “And now, we walk.”

    The mage and the handmaid continued through Darkwood, making small talk. Perhaps Brynn wasn’t as bad as he seemed.

    “Did you hear something?” Felkin whispered, stopping halfway through a story.

    Master Brynn tilted his head to the left, listening. In the silence, the pair heard a very distinct, guttural hiss.

    “Do you have your amulet?”

    “How do you know—“



    Master Brynn’s face paled.

    “Catch,” he said, tossing his scepter to Felkin.

    “Master Brynn this is—“

    “Your battle, Felkin. The king’s orders.”

    “What does the king have to do with me? I don’t know anything about—“

    “You have no idea what you know, Felkin.”

    “What am I trying to prove, Brynn?”

    Brynn’s eyes met hers. “That you’re ready to take my place as the court mage, Felkin. You’re my new apprentice.”

    “Your apprentice?”

    “Yes, I have chosen you. I’ll never be far.”

    “I don’t believe it.”

    “It will come, Felkin. The mage’s blood runs freely with your own. You’ll know what to do.”

    “What do you mean I’ll—“

    From the depths, a horrid beast, half lizard, half scorpion surfaced. Felkin had seen it before: it haunted her in sleep. Beneath her palm, Brynn’s scepter glowed white-hot. The scepter began to quake. Felkin felt her eyes close and felt the scepter’s rapid tremors. A foreign language escaped Felkin’s tongue and the beast was frozen in time.

    “I knew you were powerful, but I did not predict this.”
    Felkin held her breath.

    “A mage?” Felkin gaped.

    “Our future,” Brynn whispered.

    500 Words @nXgWVteacher