Wrote a short fiction story for CleverFiction.com. It's called "Write Me" Thanks for visiting CleverFiction.com and checking it out. It's open to everyone one likes to read and write short fiction. Add Comment The latest weekly writing challenge prompt on Clever Fiction is: Darkness/Faith/Perplexed. Why not take on the challenge yourself? Click Here To Read "Rebecca Hill" on CleverFiction.com  If you like to read or write short stories, then you'll like Clever Fiction! It's a new website devoted to short fiction by independent writers based on a weekly writing challenge. Take on the writing challenge and combine the "mystery ingredients" into a short story of 250 - 1000 words. Give and receive feedback and expand your author platform. Be part of a growing community writers on the Clever Fiction and on Facebook! Starting Over 09/14/2011
Short Story Challenge: 250-1000 Words | Must be original | Must include: Sand, Red Wine, Duct Tape.  We left earth on a Thursday. All eleven of us stood near a window watching the only home we'd ever known slip further and further away. Then our view was blocked by a pale white cloud layer before brilliant sunlight pierced into our eyes. Only a few had tears left to cry as we entered the next sequence in a nightmare we'd never wake up from. We were an unlikely band of brothers and sisters. Six men and five women, whose only common bond was a premature death sentence called Vinton's Disease. It had been explained to me twice and I still didn't understand how it did what it did to the body. I only knew that somehow I'd contacted a virus that was making me deathly allergic to the atmosphere. The same atmosphere I had lived well in all of my twenty-nine years before. “How much time do I have left?” I asked the doctor trying to sound composed. “I hate to tell you this,” Dr. Isman said reluctantly, “But if you started feeling symptoms in February, then you've already seen your last Christmas.” The other ten on board heard similar things from their doctors and specialists. Vinton's Disease isn't something you keep from a fiance. Only a week after proposing to my sweet Stephanie I had to tell her I probably wouldn't be around for our late fall wedding. She didn't take the news well. I never saw her again after that. Something else we eleven had in common was receiving a letter from Orion-Luxor Industries. An invitation to an alternate ending of our lives. Instead of dying slowly and painfully on earth while racking up unimaginable medical expenses, we could be part of a space exploration team on another planet. Our controlled environment would be adjusted to keep us as comfortable as possible and could actually extend our lives by weeks if not months. It was a theory of course, but it seemed to be the lessor of two very terrible evils. Thick darkness surrounded the windows when we entered our individual cryogenic-sleep chambers. But we awoke to turquoise blue six days later. I forced my way through a sleep hangover to the window to get my first look at Rantheon-1. Our new home was a wide open desert with sand and sparse vegetation as far as the eye could see. I was expecting something more dreary, actually. I was caught off guard by what I saw next. I knew I'd met everyone on board but hadn't really seen Wendie before. Maybe I was seeing her without the veil of grief she wore after a heart wrenching good bye to her husband and young daughter. She searched through the window like a curious child then glanced to me. We exchanged fractured smiles then prepared to suit up and unload the transport. Our new surroundings were made by machines for machines with a customized oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere to aid our condition. Uninfected humans would need a breathing mask, but we lived mask free. What Orion-Luxor needed wasn't just the human touch, but the non-liner, creative problem solving mankind has to offer. Rantheon-1 was rich with subterranean mineral ore, but the machines would regularly breakdown. With the hologram video conferencing technology, the techs back on earth could teach a monkey to fix almost anything with tweezers and duct tape. Transports were scheduled to arrive monthly with new supplies of food and tools, along with almost anything we asked for personally to keep us as content as possible. Wendie and I seemed to eat together frequently. She was warm and kind company and I hoped I somehow brightened her life as well. On our ninth or tenth day she asked, “How are you feeling? Do you still feel sick?” I thought about it for a moment. “Not really. I'd have to say I'm feeling more normal than I have in a long time.” “Me too,” she said before changing the subject. “We should ask for plants and pictures for the walls around here. It's so bare. We can get those things right?” “Whatever we want,” I answered. We held each other in our eyes a little longer each time we met. Every break or dinner together became a welcome escape. Since being diagnosed all I thought about were my days remaining. Wendie changed that. Now I looked forward to each new day. Our base on Rantheon-1 was located where we had constant light coming from two distant suns. No matter the time, it was always appeared to be late afternoon with no changing of seasons. Sometime later, I was reviewing the supply list with an online tech one day when he asked, “Want anything special for Christmas?” “Christmas?” “Yep,” he said putting on a Santa Clause hat. “This supply run will get to you bright and early on December 25th buddy. What do you want?” No one expected this, least of all me. “I know what I want, but I'm not sure if she's ready. Know what I mean?” I asked with a wrinkled brow. “Depends on how you ask her.” I turned around to see where the feminine voice was coming from. Wendie leaned lightly against the door frame with her arms folded. “A bottle of red wine should do nicely,” she said. The warmth of her smiled lingered with me long after she turned away. All of us were alive and strong two years after our arrival. Now Orion-Luxor had a new mission on another planet for all but two of us. My wife and I waved to our co-workers and friends from the window. They left Rantheon-1 on a Monday. The Whole Field 02/19/2011
This story is one of the short stories from Time Out On A Roller Coaster. Anyone who knew Martin Roberts arrived at the same conclusion about him; not the sharpest tool in the shed, but certainly the sweetest young man you'll ever meet. He lived a simple life in the humble, drive through town of Melton, New Mexico, making his home in a single-wide mobile home just a mile from the mill where he worked. Like clock work, Martin would finish his shift at the mill and walk a narrow trail home that would take him through a 5-acre parcel for sale and right past Mike's Dairy Freeze, his favorite place in whole world. Mike, the owner, was a gruff man with little patience for most of humanity. But he put up with Martin's slowness and repeated questions. Perhaps it was because everyday Martin would plop down his quarter, dime and nickel to get a kiddie cone of pistachio ice cream. He liked everything about the sweet delight except for the nuts. He would pick those out every time he licked his way to them. “Are you going to sell your field today, Mike?” “Could be, Martin, could be. How come you don't eat the nuts?” “I don't like nuts. I only eat the good stuff." It was their daily conversation. One day Martin was making his usual way home though the dusty field toward his ice creamy rendezvous, when his eye caught something sticking out of the ground. He stopped and looked at what appeared to be the edge of a crate or a large box. After a few minutes of brushing dirt and twigs away he was looking at an old wooden chest, free of any markings or a lock. Martin looked around cautiously to see if anyone was watching. Sure that he was completely alone, he opened the half buried box and looked inside. To Martin's surprise it was filled with pieces of gold and silver, some old coins and dozens of rings and bracelets. The sun's reflection off of the shinny pieces of treasure lit up his whole face. Martin let out a laugh of joy. After looking over the precious contents, he looked around again, then covered it back up. He had found something special, almost as special as pistachio ice cream without nuts. He continued along the path toward his usual afternoon destination. “Are you going to sell your field today, Mike?” “It could happen today. Are you going to eat the nuts today, Martin?” “I don't like the nuts. I only eat the good stuff.” Martin started in on his cone then looked at the ice cream shop owner with a smile. “Can I buy your field, Mike?” Mike looked at his best customer quizzically. “What are you going to do with it?” “I'm going to dig up buried treasure.” Mike smiled at his sweet but slow friend. “Buried treasure, huh, Mike? You got a good imagination. Tell you what, you buy my land and you can have all the treasure in it. How's that?” Martin thought about it for a moment. “Do I have to buy all of it? Can I just buy the part I want?” Mike laughed. “I'm not selling part of it, Martin. If you want the field you have to buy it all. Parts you like and parts you don't like, the good and the bad. That's the way it is. The price is $2,000. You got $2,000 Martin?” The simplistic Martin wasn't sure. But he was going to find out. Mike didn't see Martin at his shop for over a week. Martin was busying himself with selling what few possessions he had and saving up his daily ice cream money for something more lasting. Finally all that was left was Martin's mobile home. Two days later, it sold, bringing his entire cash total and net worth to $2,155.18. Mike never saw a smile as big as the one on Martin's face when he showed up the following afternoon. “I'd like to buy your field today, Mike,” exclaimed an excited Martin as he put a bag of money on the counter. “I guess it's going to happen today,” said the surprised land owner. Today in Melton, a two-story house sits where a vacant lot used to be. It's the house next to the new Mike and Martin's Dairy Freeze where they always have a special on pistachio ice cream. With or without nuts. | Free Christian FictionSometimes, a good short story is just what you need... ArchivesOctober 2011 CategoriesAll |
RSS Feed