Pattern
by bjoern

Comment:
They had gathered for the war. They knew that this would be it, the final assault. Many gathered here would never return. Many gathered here would have their lives irrevocably changed in some way, be it through injury or psychological damage, or loss of companions and friends. Many here knew the cost, but they gathered regardless, and got ready to lay down their lives for their cause.

Many, that was, except for Albert and Fred, the spots in which they should have occupied being empty and stark amongst the soldiers there.

Albert and Fred, then labeled as deserters and traitors. Their lives forfeit due to their fear and cowardice. Their families shamed and vilified, and for what reason?

Only Albert and Fred knew, and such was their love for each other that they had forsaken their very lives for it. They knew they could no longer co-exist with their fellow soldiers, for their love was a forbidden one. So they were hunted down and were killed for their desertion of the state, but they died with the knowledge that they may have deserted an army, but would have never deserted their hearts.

5 weeks
by Rompy

Comment:
The excitement on his face was undeniable. That smile, the shine in the eyes, and even an unmistakable laugh of relief. Such was the news that he even pumped his little fists in the air in victory and joy.

For it was, on that day, that he learned that his parents were anti-circumcision, and celebration ensued.

*disclaimer* I don't know that the actual parents are anti-circumcision, nor is it a political/personal commentary on the pros and cons of such, but I just figured it was a good reason for a baby to be deliriously happy ;D No offense is intended in any way.

Frozen hand in an icicle
by bobcc

Comment:
They had spent the day in that cave, exploring it giddily, discovering the many wonders it held. It had been the discovery of the year in that little hamlet for sure, the entrance to such a vast subterranean cavern lying under the old man's barn. It had been discovered only when the barn had been destroyed in that storm. Discovered when one of the clean up crew had tumbled into the hole that had somehow opened up where one had never been before.

So it was they discovered a wonder of wonders. A vast cavern system filled with strange rock formations and crystalline beauty. A network of caves that revealed secrets that left them all gasping. Strange writings on the walls, hand-made objects of purest glass, treasures untold.

So they went, exploring, recovering all these treasures and artifacts, until they finally came to what seemed to be a great door carved right into the very stone walls. A great door that would not move, and could not be scored by any tools known to them. They pondered day and night, they brought in the brightest minds, but still they could not move that door. Until one day, as they sat there ready to give up, a light appeared around the cracks, glowing bright and blinding, and with that light came a deafening rumble through the caverns, and the door began to swing outward.

With bated breath they stood, watching, and as the door swung fully open and their eyes grew used to the darkness beyond, the finally beheld the most amazing thing they had discovered yet. There, hanging in the middle of the opening, was a giant outcropping of crystalline ice. It glowed brilliantly in their lights, and as they finally grasped what it was, a murmur of excitement mixed with fear went through them. It was in the shape of a hand, a giant icy hand.

They all started talking at once, slowly approaching this object, this artifact, trying to peer through the gloom and discover where the rest of the "arm" part of this hand went. What was it attached to? What sort of beings left this kind of treasure here?

Then, in the space of a moment, the curiosity and wonder turned to abject terror and fear, as the hand suddenly clenched into a fist and moved. Screams echoed through the tunnels as every single one of them tried desperately to back away. The caverns echoed with thunder as the hand began to move some more. Lights were dropped in panic and as some shone further into that deepened gloom, they highlighted what would become the doom of them all.

That hand was attached to something, and that something was huge. That something was awake. That something was alive.

That something was angry.

With a roar and a swing of that crystalline fist, the cavern walls were destroyed in a shower of stone and dust, and the creature it was attached to, a giant of ice and crystal, was awakened to the destruction of us all.

From the Dust
by wsteyn

Comment:
...and in the land of the Little Ones, during a reversal of the norm, he found himself a unintentional "guest" of the tribe. He did not know how he got there, nor how it all came to be. All he knew is that he found himself surrounded by the tots, the young ones, these adorable but haunting little toddlers that seemed to rule this land, seemed to have more knowledge and power and awareness than children should ever have.

Children, no, these were not children as he had known them, once, in whatever world had been his own. No, these were children of a different existence, and he was their prisoner. Desperately he pleaded with them to let him go, he meant no harm, he would go on his way, but they just smiled, and laughed. Smiled, laughed, and with a chant and a raising of the arms one of the wee ones seemed to summon a fire from the ground, and the smoke and dust rose into the air, and he knew then... knew then that he was doomed, and in this world, it was the children that ruled.

4 Ducks (GEESE, I MEANT GEESE)
by karmat

Comment:
Per the title, these are Geese ;) Canada Geese, to be precise.

I kind of like the magnification aspect

Photography is boring....
by edmeng

Comment:
He didn't know why he had to do this. Always with the "look up here" and "Sit like this" and "Just one more!" that was never just one more. Oh no, it was just one more thirty more times is what it was. If he heard "just one more!" again he was going to start screaming, and they'd know a temper tantrum this time, you bet. He'd had enough of "That's so cute!" and "What a handsome boy!" and "Do it for granny!". He'd had enough of "Your aunt and uncle will love these" and "I'll let you pick out a toy" and "smile for mommy!".

There came a time in every young man's life when being a guinea pig for his parents was just no longer tolerable. This was that momen...

...and then they would pick him up and give him a hug and a kiss and make his favorite dinner and tell them how proud they were of him, and he sighed.

He guessed one more time wouldn't hurt.

St. Andrews Cemetary (est. 1708 )
by RulerZigzag

Comment:
"It was a dark and stormy night..."

Or so the line entered his head as he found himself in this spot on that dark and gloomy evening. Wasn't that how stories of that nature always started? The cliche was so bad he chuckled to himself, and then shivered.

What was he doing here anyway? Sometimes his mouth opened and got him into more trouble than it was worth, but he kept doing it. This time, it had opened and had told all his friends that spending the night in an old graveyard was nothing. Stop being so superstitious and afraid. It's just bits of stone and bones in the ground. Ghosts and ghoulies aren't real. I'll show you. It's nothing.

So here he was, with a backpack filled with camping equipment, and a stubborness masking as courage. Once he committed to something, he was in it for the long haul, no backing out.

He took a deep breath, found a good spot and began setting up his gear. Yup, just another camping trip. Just another night among hundreds of other nights spent in a tent. A quick wind suddenly blew up and tickled the back of his neck, and he jumped, then uttered a sharp barking laugh. Great, now he had himself jumping at the wind. Way to go. He shook his head and inwardly reprimanded himself for his silliness, and then finished setting up the tent. He then busied himself with getting everything else ready, and, about an hour later, finally tucked himself into his sleeping bag. Nothing more had happened. No noises, no movements, nothing. It was just as he had said. Just a graveyard. Just another place. Just ...

That's when a sudden screeching cry came from seemingly all around him. He sat up with a jerk, a small thin cry escaping his throat. What the hell was that!? He sat there, barely daring to breathe, listening. Nothing. There was no more sound, and he almost began to believe he had imagined it. Mind playing tricks. That's all. Hah hah. Good one. That'll be a funny story for the boys in the morning.

He sighed and shook off the shivers, and settled back in once more. Imagined it, yes, that's all. Or a screech owl at worst. Lots of animals make crazy noises at night. With these thoughts he began to drift off once more and...

... jerked awake again with a cry as his tent began to shake and tremble as if a hundred hands were grabbing it and rattling it around. His eyes grew to the size of saucers and his cries like that of a terrified girl. He scrambled madly for the zippered entrance, fumbling for the latch in pure terror and desperation, finally grabbing it and ripping it upwards and open. With another cry as an unearthly wailing began to join the pounding on the then, he tore open the tent flap and...

It was a beautiful morning. The sun shone brightly, and the birds sang their twittering song. The caretaker walked along, whistling a tune with the birds and heading out to tend the gardens that surrounded the grave site. So it was a bit of a shock when he noticed the colored fabric blowing in the wind, nestled amongst a bunch of the tombstones. Suspiciously, he made his way over to the site, to find a tattered tent sitting there, half-collapsed. With a frown, he silently cursed whatever teenager or vagabond had left behind such a mess, and moved to begin cleaning it up, and that's when he saw it. The hand sticking out of the door flap, the skin a deathly shade of grey, and a smell coming from that dark entrance that was enough to choke him. Knowing better, but doing it anyway, he slowly approached the entrance, handkerchief over his nose and mouth, and reached over, and yanked open the flap.

His screams were not unlike the screams that had been heard the night before, as he was met with the face of the man that had dared try to camp there the night before, kneeling frozen in the doorway of the tent, his face a mask of paper white terror, the eyes missing, the mouth hanging open in a tortured mutation. The visage of a man that had looked evil in its very eyes, and was lost.

The caretakers screams continued for some time, as the birds sang their merry song and the sun shone down, and the graveyard added another whisper to the night.

Go fly a kite
by millsa

Comment:
On a warm sunny day, with the cares of most people lost in the sand and the warmth of the water and the joy of the afternoon, they came.

Every one of them colored uniquely, every one of them causing pointed fingers and gasps of awe.

At first the people smiled and laughed, thinking it some kind of event, some kind of show. The smiles and laughter soon turned to shock and screams, however, as these floating things, these colorful monstrosities, soon started shooting threads down at the people below. Threads like gossamer web, but strong as tempered steel. Threads that pierced those they touched, and carried them screaming into the skies.

Humanity would suddenly find themselves in a fight for their very existence.

Happy hump day
by ShutterPug

Comment:
Paul was embarrassed, later, to find out that Francis was actually out shopping that morning.

He swore never to take viagara with his morning orange juice ever again.

Winter Time
by gsal

Comment:
Perhaps they'd thought it all in good fun, perhaps they simply chose not to notice the look on the face, or to hear the desperation in the pleas to stop, to not throw anymore. Perhaps they just got carried away.

Perhaps, but sometimes the games of winter can turn ugly before you know it, and sometimes one goes away with a tear on the cheek and feeling more than just the pain of stinging ice on their skin.

Sometimes it can be so hard to navigate the landscape that is childhood, especially when that landscape can be cold and unforgiving.