Hi there again Blog Reader! Today I'm trying my hand at entering a writing competition. You may recall from "The Bear Room" I like to write for contests which I invariably never end up entering. Well, this time I have written the below short story for the Creative Writing Ink's writing prompt competition. The site can be found at this link, and the picture they have selected as the prompt is below. Wish me luck. The Queens BirthdayJola smiled at her twin brother Haram when he said they should go into the city to see the birthday procession. From being young, the royal family had fascinated them both; everything from the majesty of their carriages to the crowns they wore, covering their heads whenever they were in public.
“Mother will be angry if we leave the farm unattended while they are at the market,” she said, hoping Haram would come up with one of his brilliant plans and convince her to go. As the older twin, by roughly three minutes, she took it upon herself to be the sensible one of the pair. “But sister, it is not only the Queen’s birthday today but ours too; we can count it as our present to each other, and to her. Besides, we will be back before our parents, I only want to see the parade, and it only happens every ten years. Please don’t make me miss it.” The look in his eyes melted her heart, but she was confident he would find a way to sneak off if she did not go with him, and heaven knows what kind of trouble he would get up to on his own. “Fine, we will go and see it. But we must be back before mother and father, or we will both be in trouble.” They made themselves busy with the few farm errands too essential to put off until later and set off for the city. It was only an hour’s walk, faster if you had a cart or horse, but those were with their parents at the market on the other side of the city. The city itself sat in the centre of a large natural dome, hidden from view until you came over the crest of the rise and looked down at its fabulous splendour. They said the walls were over a hundred feet tall and no army had ever managed to breach them. It had been generations since the last war when the current queen assumed power in their lands. Old men and women sometimes recited the stories their grandparents had told them as children, although Jola didn’t believe half of them. The gate fee was usually a single Toc unless you were selling goods at the market, in which case the crown imposed a levy on each item sold, depending on its value. Their family didn’t pay it; local farmers with food for sale didn’t need to, but there was a limit on the price they could charge for their goods. Today, however, in honour of the celebrations, there would be no fees, and they walked through the south gate and past the large guards, dressed in their finest gold armour, without them even stirring. Once inside, they could see the decorations adorning the building; flags and banners seemed to be hung from every available pole and window, and many of the citizens were dressed in finery the likes Jola had never seen before. Everyone she saw was smiling and enjoying the festivities of the day. Haram’s smile generally made her happy but seeing him beam at the sights, sounds and smells of today elated her. Jola was sure if his smile were much bigger; the top of his head may come off. They walked past the hundreds of people making their way to the parade route and intrepid stallholders attempting to sell their wares to the masses. She watched as a man bought a small flag from one of the vendors and passed it up to his son, sat on his shoulders. She turned to point it out to Haram, but he had disappeared into the crowd. Good, she thought, it would give her time to run a quick errand. Ducking through the crowd, she found what she was looking for; on one of the stalls they had walked past, was a single red hat her brother would love. Keeping an eye out for him, she purchased it with the few coins she had managed to save and walked back to the spot where she last saw him. Jola waited a few minutes for him to return, scanning the crowd and smiling while keeping the present behind her back to keep the surprise. A few more minutes passed, and she started to panic, but then caught sight of him walking towards her. “Happy birthday Sister,” he said, producing a sugared sweet bun from behind his back. “Happy birthday Brother” she replied proffering her gift. His face lit up even more at the sight of the hat, and he immediately placed it on his head at a roguish angle. It suited him even more than she hoped. The sweet bun was delicious. She offered Haram a bite, but he had never been interested in sweet food, besides, he seemed a little preoccupied. “Follow me,” he said grabbing her hand once she had licked the last of the sugar from her lips. They ducked and weaved through the crowd of merry parade goers until they came up to the back of the palace. It was a grand building, marble towers and high glass windows surrounded by its tall wall. The parade was set to start from there, circle the city and then return later, all with the royal family, headed by the Queen, waving and throwing gifts to the crowd. “There is a walled garden down this alleyway where you can see into the palace.” He said as they ducked between two buildings. “Keep a lookout while I go up and have a look. Then I will keep a lookout for you go.” Jola opened her mouth to object, but he was already a couple of steps up the wall. She wasn’t surprised; climbing trees was one of her brother's favourite pastimes. “I can see her. She’s not even wearing the crown! I bet I’m the first person to.” Haram had gone quiet. Jola assumed he was awestruck by the realisation he would be the only person to have seen the face of a member of the royal family in generations. Feeling the excitement build within her Jola decided to abandon her post and started to climb the thick vines coating the wall to see the view for herself, but the quiet conversation of two people walking towards them made her stop. They were probably guardsmen this close to the palace. “Haram! Get down!” she shouted as her brother refused to move. His eyes were transfixed on something over the wall. She climbed a few steps and pulled at his ankle. It was strangely cold and shocked her to the touch. Her foot slipped from the tangle of the vines, and she fell from the wall, landing hard on her feet and wincing at the pain shooting up her leg from her ankle. She sighed in relief as Haram started to move, but the breath caught in her throat as she realised he was falling backwards. She tried to dash forwards to catch him, but a sharp pain in her ankle slowed her movement. She watched as he hit the ground and fractured into hundreds of pieces. A piercing shriek came from deep within her soul as she watched in agonising disbelief at the crumbling shards of stone which had once been her brother, further crumbled to sand and then finally to dust which stirred in the light breeze. She backed up against the wall in horror and began to sob as the joyous red hat floated to the ground in front of her. She started crying uncontrollably until the guards she had heard before came upon her and dragged her away from the few remaining motes.
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Hi again, Blog Reader! With this post, I have a little freebie treat for you all. The following is a short story I wrote a few years ago for submission to a contest. The rules were:- 1. Must be under 1,500 words (Its actually 1,559 but whats 59 words between friends) 2. Themed around the words creepy or sinister I finished and promptly bottled entering - Oh well. The Bear RoomThe room spins as I open my eyes. A faint, dim light spreads about the room as if poured in from the grimy, web strewn skylight above. I sit up and hold my head in my hands for a few moments. I take a few deep breaths in an attempt to assuage the nauseous feeling creeping into me. I'm sweating. My jaw subconsciously tenses as I feel my teeth press hard against each other, almost as if they are trying to prevent the gag I can feel beginning in my throat. I retch a few times and spit bile before my stomach realises that there is nothing to expel. My breathing slows, and the spinning wanes. I cast an eye over my featureless, dismal surroundings and try to assess where I am. The light throws strange shadows against the walls and floor. I stare at each one, in turn, mentally daring it to move, even in the slightest. When I am finally satisfied the shadows hold no danger, I stand. It takes me a second to get to my feet. I stumble as I rise, almost toppling back to the cold stone floor before I catch myself. The room is a box, grey concrete ceiling atop grey concrete walls atop a grey concrete floor, each as dazzlingly grim as the rest. There are few features beyond a tatty camp bed and steel sink. The skylight is too high to reach, even stood atop the bed. I cannot tell whether the light seeping through is natural or artificial; there is a thin yellow glaze adhered to each small rectangular pane. There is one door into the room. It is set into the wall, higher than the floor level. Three small concrete steps and a metal railing leading up to it. I gingerly climb the steps and automatically reach out to take the handle. I grip air as my hand passes through the space where I expect to feel cold metal. There is no handle on my side of the door. I look at the stark metal plate covering where the handle should be. Five screws are holding it in place and a sixth screwless hole, a visible testament to someone's idleness. Each of the screw heads was scratched and deformed. Their original crosses brutally worked into cones. I turn and look back into the room from my slightly elevated vantage point. It is not a large space; somewhat like a single garage, yet without the large door to admit or expel a vehicle. There is no feel to the temperature of the room. It is neither warm nor cold, merely ambient. There is no breeze or feeling of air movement of any kind. All is still, and all is grey. My eyes catch on something strange. In the centre of the room is a child's teddy bear. Was it there before? Did I walk past it and not notice it? It sits, its head slightly cocked as if awaiting a reply to a simple question. I walk closer, a strange feeling of dread filling me further at each step. I stand over it for a short while and watch as its unmoving form stares at my ankles. I squat and stare into its eyes for a few moments as it continues its silent vigil. I reach out, my fingers shaking slightly, and stop. Ever so gently the head of the bear rolls slowly upwards. It's eyes staring directly into mine. My heart freezes in my chest, and my lungs stiffen. I pull my hand away as if my fingers were burned and begin to overbalance. The bear's eyes are slightly chipped making them seem accusing and menacing. The stare continues as I attempt to regain my balance, the seconds stretching into hours until gravity finally claims me. Almost as mirror images, both the bear and I topple backwards to lay staring at the skylight. I wait a few moments, catching my breath and waiting for my now thumping heart to slow. I prop myself up and look at the empty patch of concrete where I had last seen the bear. I scrambled backwards, kicking myself along with my feet and scrabbling with my hands until my back hit the wall with a thump. Where had it gone? Had it been there at all? I sit there and breathe deeply, desperately trying to regain control of the terror slowly taking over my mind. I barely have myself under control when my eyes catch something in the corner of the room. The dim light makes it difficult to see, but I know the shape. The bear. I watch it for a second or two while I convince myself that I must have kicked it over there as I fell backwards. I don’t believe myself, but I repeat it over and over under my breath. I blink, and in the tiny amount between my eyes closing and reopening, the room goes black. I open them to nothing. No light. No sound. I panic and shuffle myself along the wall until I reach the corner. I bury my shoulders as far as I can into the right angle and hug my knees. I pray for the light to return as I begin to sob. I can feel the wet patch start to spread as my tears soak into my jeans. The light begins to return, slow at first, gently building to its pre-darkness level. My sobs slow and stop. I wipe my cheeks and my nose dry and stand once more. I turn my head and stare at the bear in the corner. It sits on its side now, head still facing me, eyes still staring out into the room. An uncontrollable rage seizes me. I blame the bear for terrifying me and stride angrily towards it. I snatch it up from where it lay and grip it tightly, snarling and swearing at it as I rant. The bear stares blankly back at my rage, once again inert. My anger grows further as I throw it to the floor and stomp on it with one foot. I jump and land both feet on the bear. I smile and snarl at the same time. A guilty pleasure comes over me as I squat to lift the bear to my face. It's now scratched eyes stare at me, their blackness rivalling the feeling inside me. I notice the seam has split down the bear's side. Small pieces of its clean white stuffing tumble and glide to the floor as I watch. An evil thought pushes me to begin pulling at the stuffing, faster and faster I rip out the bear's innards. I kick and throw the small balls of fluff around the room as if I am trying to coat every millimetre of the floor. I look at the sad remains of the bear in my hands, its body deflated, and one ear is missing. The rage inside me subsides as I look once more into its cold, dead eyes. Ashamed, I place the head of the bear in the corner facing the wall and return to my own. Suddenly there is a noise. A jangle of keys. A metallic thump as a lock turns and a squeal of old hinges as they resist opening the heavy door. I count the seconds in my head, waiting for someone or something to step through. Nobody enters. Gingerly I return to my feet. I take slow, cautious steps towards my exit, hugging the wall and watching the back of the bear's head. I stop before I reach the first step and stare at the door. It opens out of the room and is slightly ajar. It beckons to me. It sits and quietly screams at freedom. I gulp and restrain my urge to rush the door. I place my hand on the rail and lift my right foot. I set it down on the first step and pull myself up. My left foot takes the initiative and swings upwards onto the second where my right foot joins it. I stare back into the room. Pieces of the bear litter the floor, and tiny motes of stuffing are floating gently in the air. I feel a pang of guilt at my outburst. The bear had done nothing wrong. It was merely a focus for my fear and paranoia. I smile as I realise my flaws and step up to the door. I push it outwards and step out of the room. I take a few steps away from the door and turn to see it closing behind me. I say a farewell to the room and take in my freedom. At first, I don’t believe the evidence of my own eyes. I turn and see the doorway is concealed on this side; the faintest of seams in the concrete betraying its existence. I look around me, and it is then I recognise the noise of myself screaming. The room is a box, grey concrete ceiling atop grey concrete walls atop a grey concrete floor, each as dazzlingly grim as the rest. There are few features beyond a tatty camp bed and steel sink. In the centre of the room is a child's teddy bear. It sits, its head slightly cocked as if awaiting a reply to a simple question. Hope you enjoyed it. Marks out of 10 in the comments section
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Craig BoldyBorn in South Yorkshire, he lives there with his wife and Labrador. Working a normal 9-5 while filling his nights with writing. Categories
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