Waiting for Sixteen
by aimeethetoo

Comment:
She sat, alone, and pouted.

What am I doing here? Where am I going? Will I pass this year? Will I ever graduate? Why don't my teachers like me and why are they always on my case and why do I always get so much homework and why doesn't Danny call me anymore he said he would and he says he loves me but Jenny says he saw him with Angie on the weekend and I hate him I'll show him I'll hit on Trevor I think Trevor likes me but he smokes and I don't like smokers and my dad would kill me if he thought I was seeing a smoker oh no I told dad I'd get home right away to help him clean out the garage I'm in shit I bet he doesn't let me watch Survivor tonight I'll have to find out what happens from Barbara and he'd better let me go to the party at Sarah's on the weekend and why does my life have... to...

SUCK.

She sat, alone, and pouted.

Chased
by mitalapo

Comment:
It had been a dream of his for as long as he could remember. Since childhood, when his father took him to watch a marathon in the city. The sights, the sounds, the crowd, the labor of the runners, the exaltation of the winner.

Yes, he'd dreamed of this moment for so many years. Now, after months of training, he could feel it. Smell it. Taste it. He was leading the pack by hundreds of lengths, and he had so much more yet to give, and the finish line was just in front of him. Smiling, he looked back to check the distant runners, satisfied at how far behind him they were, and then turned back to his vic...

*WHAM!*

He never saw it coming, the low hanging branch that ended his dream.

Longing for the way it once was in Thailand
by jbsmithana

Comment:
Chailai sat and pursed her lips. She hadn't wanted to come to dinner. She was fine at home, on her own, tending her garden. However, Her niece and nephew had made such a fuss, and so she had relented. She had put up with their constant chattering, with the long ride to their home, with that yowling mutt they called a pet. She'd put up with all of that with nary a complaint, but when dinner was ready, and they had appeared with this RIDICULOUS hat, well, that was just the end of her patience. She had a mind to pout right through dessert.

Scary Yet Candid
by heavyj

Comment:
He'd snapped the photo before he even realized his subject had noticed him. When he got it home, and saw that the man had been staring at him, he got an uneasy feeling. Suddenly, small nagging memories hit him. The way the man had suddenly glowered, the way his head nodded almost imperceptibly. It had occurred on a subconscious level for the photographer, something he hadn't been aware of but could recall in stark clarity now that he gazed at the photo on his screen.

He'd liked the look of the old man, sauntering along the street. Now, he seemed to be scowling in perpetuity. A look of knowing in his eyes, almost haunting.

A few weeks later, when the pains began, and the boils erupted on his skin, he would forget about this particular subject in a forgotten photo, and never made the connection, even to his agonizing death a short time later.

TAG - your it!
by Ecce_Signum

Comment:
Jimmy watched on from a point of safety and his brother Dougie got the wrath of Spots, the school bully that day. He fought valiantly, did Dougie, but to no avail. In the end, bruised and bloody, he had to hand over his lunch money.

School life could be so cruel.

Ent
by see

Comment:
"ahh, a customer", the old tree put hand on knee and bent down to greet the startled newcomer. "It's been so long since I've seen anyone out this way."

The hiker blinked in shock. That the tree moved was one thing, but that it spoke, that it blinked eyes and smiled with a mouth, well that was something else entirely. He was frozen with fear and panic.

"Please, do not be afraid, I shall not hurt you. I am but an old tree, and I have some wonderful pumpkins to sell."

"p..pumpkins. S..s..sell. y..y.. you. Tr..tr.." stammered the hiker, still rooted to the spot. Perhaps his paralyzing fear would have lasted forever, perhaps not, but suddenly the old tree bent down, picked up a pumpkin and stretched it out towards the man. As it always goes with fear, this was the action that caused a string to snap. The tension broke and the hiker, with a screech to put a banshee to shame, fled off through the forest.

The old tree sat staring after him, then looked down at the squash in his hand and sighed, placing it back into the pile.

"I lose more customers that way."

...and the sky burst forth with pools of wonderous, glorious color...
by ThatChickOverThere

Comment:
He had just finished an afternoon of fishing that day, and was slowly rowing his catch back to shore. The sun had started to go down, and the play of colors in the clouds and on the water, combined with the pleasant day and the three or four beer he'd consumed, had calmed his spirit considerably. Yes, he thought, as he finally approached his pier, there was nothing that could ruin this day.

Smiling, he suddenly noticed a strange movement in the clouds. They seemed to be flowing and twisting, forming into one spot above the lake. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen before. Great, he thought, some kind of weird storm just has to come up and spoil my perfect day. How typical.

As he sat and watched the strange formations, it suddenly occurred to him that this was not like any kind of storm he'd ever seen. For one thing, the clouds remained light and wispy. They retained the color of the sunset and didn't go dark like heavier storm clouds should. Then, before his eyes, they began to form patterns and shapes, of a nature that should not be possible. Lower and lower they stretched, and his jaw dropped open in utter astonishment. They were forming into... into figures. Human like, but definitely not human. Now a bit of panic began to creep into him, and his amazed paralysis, which he hadn't even been aware had struck him, fell off instantly. He suddenly grabbed the oars and rowed madly for the dock, his eyes never leaving the figured shapes that were now breaking off the massive cloud and...

... my god, they were coming right for him, and fast.

With a strangled cry he redoubled his efforts. Rowing like a man possessed, watching as they came closer, and closer. Panic was running through him like wildfire, and a thin screeching reached his ears. It took a moment, but he realized that the sound was coming from himself, a scream building in his throat. He didn't know how he knew, but he knew that these cloud figures, these misty abominations were not friendly, and they meant death.

With a thundering jolt that threw him back, the boat hit the pier and the scream finally broke and he scrambled madly for the shore, almost knowing that it was pointless, but instinct kicking in. For a moment he thought he had made it, he thought he'd escaped. He cleared the pier and darted past the tiny beachfront, coming closer to the small wooded area that surrounded his cabin. A few more feet, only a few more feet. A guttural yell of triumph as he reached the first stand of trees and...

Some of the residents called it the most freakish storm of memory, that strange weather pattern that had developed that day. It was no wonder that they'd lost one of the cabin dwellers to it on the lake. He'd gone out fishing they said, and though his boat had been blown back in, he had never returned. Some say that he probably had one too many beer and had fallen in.

A breeze blew through the trees and the missing man's cabin door blew shut with a bang. It was not the water where he rested now.

In the sulfur fumes
by Rino63

Comment:
Professor Sinclair carefully sifted through the volcanic rock. He was the lead volcanologist on this project, and it was his job to make sure that the villages on the slopes and in the valley were either in no danger, or would be evacuated in time if they were.

The mountain had been considered long dormant until just a few weeks ago, when the tremors had started. Within days, it had started steaming and that was usually a sign of worse to come. So his team had been dispatched to determine the extent of the danger. Now, as he sat here taking readings and checking samples, his preliminary data was telling him that this volcano should still be long dormant. It just didn't make sen...

... and that is when the Professor caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked up quickly, startled. There, in the steam, stood someone. Some figure. The Professor's first thought was that one of his team had crept up on him, but that was not possible, he had just been in radio contact with them and they were clear on the other side of the mountain. The figure remained, motionless, and the Professor began to get an eerie feeling. Something wasn't right.

"He.. hello?" he stammered. Noting. The figure made no sound, moved not an inch. "Wh.. Who ARE you? What are you doing here?" The Professor grew a little more bold, yet still felt extremely uneasy. With still no sound or movement came from the figure, he took a step towards it.

It happened faster than he could even register that it had happened. One moment, the figure was there, the next, it had The Professor by the throat, and was suspending him above an open fissure in the rock. With a strength unparalleled, the Professor's throat was crushed instantly, and the limp body dropped into the fiery depths below.

The figure then turned, and with eyes that glowed with an amber and crimson flame, it launched into the air on wings of ebony, towards the far side of the mountain.

To feed.

Lonely Wreck
by Phantom01

Comment:
It's not something that we often stop to consider. The inanimate. The non-living. The left-overs of a people that sometimes seem to have less humanity than something that isn't even human.

The old hull lay there, in the mud and sand, on the edge of memory and dream. It was a cruel fate, stuck there within sight of a past that had been so filled with life. It remembered. Perhaps not like you and I, but it remembered. The memory lived on in the wood that composed the hull. The memory of the waves crashing against it on stormy nights, of barnacles clinging to it in dock, of rough but loving hands nailing new boards and slogging pitch into cracks for waterproofing.

The memory lived on in the remains of the cracked and splintered mast base. The memory of the gales, of the breezes, of the gulls and the pelicans, of sails unfurling and tacking.

The memory lived on in the rotting remains of the decking. The memory of feet pounding in alarm or strolling in calm, of the resting of sailors in the sunlight, of the bodies of lovers in the moonlight.

Yes, the memory lived on and even though the torture of being so close to that memory was hard to bear, laying there mere feet from the waters' edge, most of the time the reflection was sweet and full of fondness, if emotions must be attached to such a concept.

Yes, until the last plank rotted away, and the last rivet scavanged, it remembered.

Bright red trash
by momentaryawe

Comment:
The Red Knight had time. Time to think, to reflect, to wonder what had gone wrong. As the sun dropped on the horizon, he let his mind wander through his past, his life. The good and the bad. The joys and the sorrows.

He'd led a decent life. From a young age he'd always been a little better than his peers, but had maintained a modesty that enamored him to those around him. He was strong, fought well, risen through the ranks of the knighthood quickly. Yet he was also good, and kind, and never had an evil thought for anyone.

Even now, buried to his chin on this gods-forsaken beach, he could not muster up an evil thought. Instead, he only had pity for those that put him here, wondering what hardships in life they had to endure to turn them to such actions and evil deeds.

As the sun finally set, and in the days to come, as he roasted alive inside his helmet, and even as his mind failed him and took him to a world of fantasy, he fell to no thoughts of revenge. Instead, he passed on to the next life thinking only of how he could have helped those that had wronged him, and when his body was found some time later, he still had a smile on his face.