Friday, February 17, 2017

Year 2, Week 27

Judge This Week: Marj (guest appearance from the UK)

Word Count: 300 max
How: Submit your stories as a comment to this post, along with your name, word count, and title (and Twitter handle or blog if you've got 'em!). One entry per person.  Thanks :)

Deadline: 12 AM SUNDAY (2/19) PDT
Results announced: Next Wednesday afternoon/evening UK time.
Remember: Your entry must begin with the prompt! The prompt can be mutilated, but not beyond recognition. (Pictures do not need to be incorporated into your stories; they're for inspiration (and amusement).  Have fun!


 "Whatever you do, don't get this wet!"


  1. Word count: 299
    Wilderness heart

    “Whatever you do, don't get this wet!” he croaked using up the last of his energy to pump as much life-saving information as he could into her.

    “I can’t do this without you,” she cried, tears streaming down her face as her eyes widened with horror at the prospect of what was to come.

    “You will have to,” he sighed as he breathed his last.

    The only sounds left were those of the wild. Birds were consorting with each other while wolves were calling out to one another with glee. She was alone now. She was easy prey.

    Sarah grabbed the matches that Derrick had given to her in his final moments and carefully wrapped them up tight to waterproof them. Her heart was thumping in her chest. The nearest she had ever gotten to hiking was trudging through the mall on Black Friday. It helped if you used your elbows. She laughed somewhat hysterically. She would kill to be in a mall right now. Her friends had thought it would be a good idea to pool their money together and get her the trip of a lifetime. “It will give you courage”, one said. “It will help you get over your messy divorce”, another one cooed.

    “What the hell do they know?” she screamed. A lone echo whispered back. She continued along the river trying to remember everything Derrick had told her before the heart attack took him. Exercise was apparently not all that good for you. She tried to do some fishing but ended up wet. At least she had her matches. She lit a fire and stared blankly at the flames, as her tired muscles began to relax. She took out her map and began to formulate a plan. She would survive this. Somehow, she must.

  2. Name: Kieron Circuit
    Twitter: @callow_explorer
    Word Count: 298
    Title: The Things We Do

    "Whatever you do, don't get this wet". He was talking to himself. He had the package wrapped in a plastic bag that he found in the car from a previous shopping trip and then tucked it under his coat to further protect it from the driving rain.

    It would be helpful if the coat zipped but of course he always went for style over practicability. The green and black khaki material was at typically good for keeping the rain off. Normal rain that is, not this torrential downpour that had descended on the campus earlier that day and hadn't given up right through the afternoon and into the evening.

    It was dark now and it seemed that only every other light was actually working, the others flicking in a poor attempt to help illuminate the night sky. His visibility was further reduced by the sheets of condensed moisture.

    Reaching the entrance to the building he elected for the stairs, the lift always took an age to come, this would be quicker. His blue knock of Converse shoes squelched with every step.

    Keeping the consignment wrapped in the bag, he opened the door. It was more than his life was worth to even drip on it.

    Danielle appeared with the closing click of the door, itching for him to hand over the goods. She carefully slid the item out of the protective bag, discarding it without any thought onto the floor.

    Removing the tape didn't appear to be a problem as she worked quickly, desperate to get the thing opened. She lifted the contents from the box and examined them quizzically.

    "Jackson", she uttered, the disappointment evident. "This is the wrong box. Any chance you could grab the other one? Pretty Please??".

    That smile. How could he say no?

  3. 298 days of rain

    A Record of the Events

    “Whatever you do don’t, don’t get this wet.” With that firm directive, Sliderman passed me the precious bundle of rolls, long cached in his bunker, deplasticized by a long forgotten environmental oddity that abhorred plastic of any kind.

    Once the bundle was secured in my arms, he then handed me a half dozen antiquated writing implements, wood wrapped around graphite bound with a clay mixture.

    “Pencils?” I asked.

    “Pencils. There may be more somewhere, but these are my last.”

    “Do they make them anymore?” I asked. It had been eons since I had seen such a simple technology.

    “A lost art,” re-joined Sliderman. “No call. No prophets warning us.” There was a desperate darkness to his voice, a painful lament for the old ways. For at least some of the old ways.

    “We must focus. YOU must focus,” Sliderman anxiously charged. His voice was cracking, his panic rising. “This mountain is bleeding, Walter. These rains have permanently damaged the infrastructure of the hills. And the quakes, the endless quakes. They have ruptured my home, my sweet bunker. You MUST find a weatherproof chamber. The Record Keepers will need these materials. The story of these days need to be documented.”

    “Surely there is more paper, somewhere?” I asked.

    His head started to flap left and right as if an invisible entity was slapping him ferociously. “Don’t cling to your idiotic idealism, Walter. We may be at the end of OUR world. We must assume that we are all that remains of human memory. Find a safe place for this paper, for these pencils. And then, seek out whatever remains of the Record Keepers. Once that is done, your assignment will be over.

    I looked skyward. Clouds were returning.

    “Hurry, Walter. The rains are coming."

    I heard the thunder crack.

  4. Alva Holland
    @Alva 1206
    300 words

    Follow The Instructions

    ‘Whatever you do, don’t get this wet.’

    I replay the tape to see if I have missed anything. There are no further instructions. What a strange message. I wonder if the parcel is really intended for me? Has the delivery guy made a mistake?

    Rifling back through the coarse brown paper which enclosed the box and the tape, there it is – distinctly scrawled in black Sharpie – my name and address, no return address and nothing to indicate its origin. I don’t recognise the scrawl, nor the voice on the tape.

    It occurs to me that an unexpected parcel in the post might not be good news. It’s not my birthday. I shouldn’t open it. I should call someone for advice. Who though? I will sound paranoid or silly, again! Or, worse still – both.

    This is ridiculous. It’s only a box. Not particularly heavy. I shake it gently and hear rustling inside. How dangerous can a rustling item be?

    I pick at the tape seals on each corner. Something tells me not to use a scissors, or that life-threatening open blade instrument Danny threw into the kitchen drawer one day saying it would come in handy. I continue to pick at the tape and eventually peel it off until only two metal staples hold the top cardboard flaps in place.

    I swallow, pause for a second, then gingerly run my thumb and forefinger under the stapled slit. One staple cracks open. I yank the second staple and it flies into the air, landing with a chink by the dog bowl.

    I lift the flaps. The contents are enveloped in tissue. I separate the paper wafers, exposing a corner of dazzling cobalt silk.

    What the…?

    An exquisite sequined cocktail dress caresses my exploring fingers.

    The tag reads… Dry Clean Only.

    Oh Danny!

  5. Title: The Saviour

    Words: 299

    "Whatever you do, don't get this wet." Cathy passed the egg to Eliza carefully, the egg was no less than two cm tall and contained the last known fairy inside. The wars had ravaged their lands, taking many fairy lives with them. Cathy and Eliza were the elves sent to help the fairies, but they were too late to save them, the last egg remained hidden in the great oak tree.

    Eliza left Cathy to defend against the ogres as she ran, cradling the egg to her chest hoping to make it to the other elves. Their queen would know what to do, how to hatch the tiny fairy inside. Eliza had seen how the rains melted the fairy eggs, one drop was enough to disintegrate an entire breeding pen in a few seconds.

    As Eliza ran through the gates she called for the Queen. "I have the fairy egg, get the Queen!" The elves scurried looking and Eliza, knowing her queen, went directly to her place of comfort. Eliza found the Queen in her library and showed her the tiny egg. The Queen placed the egg in a tiny saucer and held a vial of liquid over it.
    "Don't get it wet!" Eliza screeched remembering the words Cathy told her, but the Queen ignored her pouring the vial over the egg. Within seconds the egg began steaming, magical sparks began shooting from the cracks in the egg.

    A blast of smoke covered the saucer and Elize held her breathe. The smoke cleared, revealing a tiny fairy not bigger than an acorn sitting in the middle of the saucer. Eliza thought it strange that the Queen bowed until she saw the elegant crown upon her head. This had been no ordinary fairy. Eliza had just saved the Queen Fairy.