Writer's Aid discussion

This is where I'll post my short stories.

Feel free to post comments and feedback in this thread, it'd be much appreciated!

(This is something I wrote for another group's Christmas contest with the theme fear.)

No Fear Left

Chloe tapped her foot impatiently as she stood in line to pay. After queuing for half an hour, she was finally in sight of the cashier counter. She had been putting off buying Christmas presents for too long, and now she was stuck in the crowd of other people who had also forgotten to buy gifts. It was surprising how many people were still looking for things to give their friends and family when it was only five days left to Christmas. Oh well, it was better than only remembering to get gifts on Christmas eve.

Looking down at her shopping basket, Chloe checked the boxes on her mental to-do list as she looked at each gift: a small Christmas fruit cake to enjoy with her boyfriend, a cute watch for her best friend, a sewing kit for her crafty roommate and a pack of different Christmas cards for all her other friends and lecturers in university. But nothing for her family.

Chloe felt an impulse to leave the queue and get her mother that lovely handbag. She knew exactly which shelf it was sitting on. She could afford it with the money from her part-time job. Her mother couldn't, since she didn't work. But Chloe just stood there, waiting for her turn to pay. Since her uneducated mother had burned all her books when she was sixteen, she had never seen her mother again. She had gone to a boarding school overseas on a scholarship then had applied to university with the help of the school's student advisors. She had only broken the silence to inform her mother through a short letter that she was going to university. She hadn't written any return address, and she had changed her email and phone number without telling her mother. So Chloe still had no idea if her mother had ever received that letter, but she didn't care.

The cashier finally finished with the customer in front of Chloe, who had bought a whole cartful of presents. Several bottles of beer caught her eye. They reminded her too poignantly of her late father, who had passed when she was sixteen. It was his death that had made her mother burn her books, because she believed that it was dangerous for Chloe to be so smart. Chloe had returned from school one day and discovered all her books missing. All her mother had given her as compensation were ashes.

Chloe blinked her watery eyes a few times to get rid of the tears that sprung up as she recollected the past. Her father had been a drunkard, a smoker, a habitual better and gambler and had abused her mother and herself by hitting them at whim. She did not want to remember him.

Lost in her thoughts as she was, she barely noticed when the cashier asked if she had a membership card for the store. 'What?' Chloe asked. After the cashier had repeated her question, she said, 'Oh, no, I don't.' She opened her wallet and took out a credit card, passing it to the cashier. 'Thank you,' she said as she collected her paid items. Then she left the stuffy shopping mall and walked back to her university dorm.

Five days later, Chloe found herself alone in her dorm, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. She glanced at the glow-in-the-dark clock on the wall opposite her. 2 am. Sighing, she moved around on her bed again, trying to find a comfortable position. But the shouts from the university students as they partied and drank late into the night kept her awake. She couldn't understand why the university authorities had allowed this. She had never celebrated Christmas. Even though there were no lectures on Christmas day, she still wanted a good night's sleep.

Her eyes were just closing shut, and her mind was just drifting away to dreamland when she saw a bright glimmer in front of her. A glimmer that whispered to her. Chloe opened her eyes immediately, sitting straight up in bed. 'Sara?' she asked, wondering if her roommate had entered the room and caused some light from the hallway to stream in. But there was no reply. There was no one in the room. She looked around the dark room nervously, reaching her hand out to grab her smartphone off the table and call for help if there was an intruder lurking in the shadows. However, before her hand had even touched her phone, it slid off the table with such force that it landed on Sara's bed, at least two metres away.

Chloe squealed, pulling her hand away and pressing herself right against the corner of her bed, farthest away from where her phone lay. Her eyes darted around the room fearfully. Then she saw a shining figure appear in front of her. It gradually took the form of someone all too familiar. 'D-dad?' she whispered, not quite believing what she was seeing.

'Chloeee,' the figure hissed. Chloe shrank further back, cowering at the sound of her father's voice. All the memories of being woken up late at night by her father, who had spent the previous hours in a bar or casino, or both, came back to her. He would shake her awake roughly, then he would hit her and throw her to the ground. In his drunken madness, he would believe that his daughter was the one who had beat him in a bet or won a round of blackjack, and he would get his revenge on her.

Chloe burst into tears as she recalled the bruises and cuts she would end up with the next morning. She would be forced to skip school that day so no one would find out. It was only fortunate for her that she had a high IQ and was able to learn faster than most, enabling her to get that scholarship for college, despite missing so many days of school.

While she sobbed, Chloe had been covering her face with her hands, unwilling to look at the apparition that still stood in front of her. But when she heard sounds of crying which she was not making, she looked up and saw that the ghost of her father, if it really was a ghost, and not just her imagination or a dream, was crying. Approaching her, her father reached out his hand and stroked her hair. All Chloe felt was a cold wind running down her cheek.

Her father seemed to know that he had very little time to appear to Chloe as a ghost. He moved to the side of her bed and the drawer under her bed was instantly pulled out. It extended right through his feet, but he didn't seem to mind. Without moving, he somehow caused the books she kept there to jump out of the drawer and land in messy heaps on the floor. Chloe watched in disbelief as her teddy bear, her favourite childhood toy, floated up and landed on her bed.

'I don't even remember bringing Teddy here,' she whispered, brushing the tears off her face. She calmed down, realising that the ghost next to her was harmless. 'I'm sorry,' he whispered. Then her father's light seemed to flicker and somehow Chloe understood that he had to go. She didn't want him to though, because although her father had brought so much pain to her, there were times when she missed the jokes and advice that he told her in his rare moments of soberness. 'Wait,' she cried out as the apparition faded away to nothing.

Chloe stared at the emptiness of her room for a few minutes, trying to process what had just occurred, before finally looking down at little Teddy. In the moonlight streaming in from the window, she smiled at the cute features of its face then turned the bear around. There was a tear along its back and white stuffing was coming out. Although the cut had been there for years, she hadn't done anything about it. But now she had the strangest feeling that she should take out the stuffing. So she removed the white fluff until she felt a tiny envelope. Pulling the envelope out and opening it, she found a small key and a folded note.

After reading the small, scribbled words on the note, she got out of bed immediately. She switched on the light and got dressed, then grabbed her bag and left the dorm, keeping the key and note safe in her bag.

The twenty-four hour bus service stopped just outside the university. Chloe ran to catch it. As she watched the night scenes whiz past her, her tired eyes started closing again. An hour later, she was jolted out of her sleep by the bus coming to a stop at the terminal, the last stop. She got out and walked down the main road, before turning into a residential area. Walking down the familiar roads from her past, she found her old house. Hesitantly, she rang the doorbell and waited. When there was no reaction from within, she rang it again. Chloe started to panic. Now that she was ready to forgive her mother, her mother was not there. Was she too late?

'Hello?' a tired voice called down from the upstairs bedroom window. 'Chloe!' her mother shouted when she recognised her daughter. Chloe smiled up at the face in the window, and when her mother opened the door, she hugged her tightly. 'I'm so sorry, mum, I should have come earlier,' she said as they both cried on each other's shoulder.

'Why are you here? After all this time?' her mother asked, confused but pleased to see her. Leading Chloe into the house, she took the note that her daughter gave her. She frowned and shook her head, not understand the significance of the words.

'Mother,' Chloe said, 'don't you remember? I went overseas, left home, because of this. You burned all my books and said I shouldn't learn things or I'd get brainwashed by the government.' She waited for her mother's reply, a sign of remembrance, but there was no such reaction. 'How can you not remember? Anyway, this note that father wrote. You never burned the books and he knew it. You only pretended to so that he wouldn't actually burn them. To keep them safe.' Her mother stared at her with a blank face.

Chloe frowned but tried again. 'In his own words, father writes, "You hid the key to the storage room when you heard me come home. You must have stuffed it into the bear and then forgot where you put it. You weren't able to open the room door anymore, so Chloe thought her books were really burnt." Mother, I know that you went to therapy after dad died. You must have been traumatised and afraid that he would haunt you or something if you told me about the books.'

Her mother dropped down onto the couch. 'I don't remember this, honey. I'm sorry, but I always thought that you were busy with school. I thought...I had no idea it was my fault that you left. I got your letter about getting into university, but I always wondered why you never called or visited me. My therapist said that I've blocked out the worst memories from my mind. Because of...' she trailed off.

Chloe stared at her mother, feeling horrified, confused and disappointed. She had not expected their reunion to turn out like this. 'What?' she demanded, her voice rising in anger.

'I have dementia.'

Chloe looked at her mother, stunned for a moment. Then she enveloped her mother in a big embrace, and said, 'Oh mum, I'm so sorry I wasn't here for you before. But now I am and I'll always be.'

They both stood there hugging each other and crying on each other's shoulders. When the tears had run dry, joy and warmth took over, and there was no fear left for Chloe and her mother.

Awwwww, that's a really sweet and really quite sad Story. Great Job

Thanks :)

This is so nice!

Thanks!

Written for a Valentine's Day-themed writing contest (got 2nd place)

In a Heartbeat

I walked into school and headed straight for my locker. Opening it, I tried to hide my joy that there were no Valentine cards for me. I didn't like any of the guys in school, so I would have been horrified if I knew any one of them liked me.

As I closed my locker and turned around, my eyes met with John's warm, hazel ones. Suddenly my feet were frozen to the ground and I couldn't move nor look away. My heartbeat sped up, burning my chest. I was quite sure my cheeks were on fire as well, though I had never known myself to blush.

John was just some guy in my class, usually quiet, unusually smart. He was nice and we had worked together on a class project once. I liked his personality, but I never thought of him as more than a classmate. He wasn't even my friend, as we rarely spoke.

But as I stood by my locker, looking at him as he stood opposite me, by his locker, I saw him in a totally different light. All the small things he had done for me suddenly appeared in my mind. How he had held the door open for me, picked up the pencil I had dropped, let me go first in the cafeteria queue...these were all things I had appreciated at the time, but soon forgotten about. But these were important things, because he was the only guy who had done such things for me.

I doubted my interest in him for a second. Was I just comparing him to the other guys in my school and liking him only because he was better than them? If I compared him to some other guys from another school, would I just stupidly fall in love with the nicest of them? Was it, after all, just a matter of comparison and relativity? Or was it really something more?

My stomach trembled as birds and bees seemed to beat their wings crazily inside me. Love...could it really be? Was this what love felt like? When two people looked each other in the eye, and their souls connected immediately, and their hearts built a bridge for them to walk across, meet in the middle, and share a passionate kiss?

Perhaps I had had this feeling for him for a while. Perhaps it had just been buried deep inside my heart, under all my other worries. Perhaps, in my arrogance, I had just herded him with all the other boring guys in my school, despite him being so different, so much better, than any of them.

The torrent of feelings was probably over in a second or less, but I felt like it had been minutes already. Blinking quickly, my eyes flitted back to my closed locker, but since there was nothing much to look at there, I looked back at him. Despite my stupefaction, I sensed that he was dazed as well, and I had a small sliver of hope that he felt the same way as I did.

Something had stirred in me in a heartbeat, and I intuitively knew that whatever had happened could never undo itself.

Written for another short story contest

Hope for Everyone

It was supposed to be the happiest day of my life, the day my only daughter was born. But how could I rejoice? She was born with the birthmark of a murderess.

All babies are born with birthmarks, indicating what they are fated to be. With the aid of operations and medicine, nearly everyone's DNA is perfect, meaning that nearly every child is born with a respectable birthmark. Only a few people have faulty DNA, which indicates that they have a disease, will commit a crime, or act immorally. Why did my child have this DNA fault? Probably because my husband had run away with another woman. His bad genes were inside her.

After I had given birth in the hospital, only one nurse remained with me. She carefully cleaned the baby, but as she lifted up the child, she gasped. With shaking hands, she hastily handed me the baby, as if fearful she would drop it. That's when I saw it.

I looked again at the birthmark, triple-checked it. As if I could will it to change into something better. I saw the dagger driven into a heart, with a blotch of blood outlining the picture. So small a mark at the edge of her face, but so big a difference to her life. She was destined for the slaughterhouse now.

Ever since the birthmark system had been introduced, there had been a few babies who had had the mark of a criminal, a psychopath, or the like, and they had all been sent immediately to the slaughterhouse, 'to keep our society perfect', according to the government. I had seen no problem with that. But now it was my turn to do it, I couldn't. I knew it was selfish and dangerous, but I couldn't do it. Not to my own baby.

I watched the nurse, frantically pacing around the room. This was obviously the first time she had seen a baby with such a birthmark.

'Let me keep her. Please.' I begged.

She finally stopped moving and stood before my bed, eyes on the floor, hands fidgeting. 'I could, bu-but the...someone will see! The - the doctors...'

She looked from the crying baby in my arms up to my pleading eyes. 'But I'll try,' she whispered.
I swore that I'd never forget what the nurse had done for me and my child. She helped me keep the baby's birthmark hidden until I left the hospital two days later.

I was determined. I had hope. I would change my daughter's future. I would not - could not - allow her to die, and neither could I allow her to kill. I would prove the stupid mark wrong.

I painted over the birthmark to make it look like a judge's, with a hammer and weighing scale. Then I spread that lie among family and friends. I raised the child alone, spending all my time with her. I carefully chose what stories to tell her, which books to keep in the house. As soon as she was old enough to understand, I explained to her how to be a virtuous, law-abiding citizen. Whenever she was disobedient or naughty, I immediately scolded her and taught her how she should behave. Repeatedly, I admonished against crime. Perhaps I was being unreal, obsessive. Maybe I was just dreaming and should just have given up. But I kept on going, never looking back.

I watched for progress throughout the years. It was my only hope. My joy peaked when she said things like: "Don't kill that bug, mummy! You should never harm living things." Pride gushed through me when she was awarded a medal in school for her participation in volunteer work. I smiled every time I saw her having fun with her friends. On her 20th birthday, I felt relieved. She had lived a virtuous life so far, and no murders had taken place at her hands.

Now my daughter is nearly 40 years old. She isn't a murderess. She isn't a judge either, though. She became a writer. Through her books, she shared her story, which I have just told. After many meetings, speeches, and even a protest, she convinced the government to allow children born with criminal birthmarks to be left alive. They have to be carefully raised, of course, under the watchful eye of government officials. But my daughter and I consider this to be progress enough, for now.

As for myself, I am now a grandmother to three young and playful children, all with good birthmarks. Not that birthmarks matter to me, anymore.

After all, there is hope for everyone.

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Inspiration: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/...

Don't Judge a Girl by her House

I live in the worst house in the neighbourhood. You're probably thinking that I live in a shack, or maybe that I don't have a house at all. But I do have a house. My house is painted a sickly light green, with pale grey polka dots that make it look like it has a disease. I certainly feel sick everyday, seeing the jeering faces of my neighbours when I leave the house. When the school bus comes in the morning, all my classmates jostle to get a glimpse of my house through the bus windows.

One day, they crowded near the door and didn't let me get onto the bus, claiming that I was obviously 'dotty'. Expecting the bus driver to scold them and let me on, I waited silently. But when I saw the driver laughing at me as well, I knew all hope was lost. I turned around and headed back up the path to my front door, ignoring the sound of the bus closing its door and driving away. One thing I couldn't ignore though, was the sound of my classmates laughing at me. I had considered a few of them to be my friends.

My neighbour, Mrs. Storrick, snickered on her doorstep as she watched me. 'Playing truant, are you?' she sneered. Ignoring her, I walked back into my house and put down my schoolbag, then changed out of my school uniform. I didn't care that I wouldn't be in school today. It was better to stay at home alone than endure all the bullying at school. The only thing I was worried about was how my parents would react when they found out. As long as the school didn't notify my parents, I would be safe. It was no point explaining to my parents how our house was ruining my life. I had tried and tried so many times to get them to see reason, but the house had been this way since my great-grandmother had built it, and they were adamant to keep it this way.

Unsure of what to do, I went to the kitchen to get a drink. As I was sipping my cup of juice, I noticed a post-it note on the fridge door and went to look at it. Ivy, mow the lawn if you have time. -Mum I had nothing else to do, so I went outside and dragged the lawn mower out of the garden shed. As I pushed the mower up and down the garden, screwing up my nose at the awful smell of freshly-cut grass, I had a strange feeling I was being watched.

I pushed the mower in the direction of the Storrick's house, looking over the short shrubs that divided our houses. Suddenly, I saw Mrs. Storrick's son, Jay, observing me from behind their apple tree. When he saw me looking back at him, he stood up and smiled, heading in my direction. In my surprise at this unusually friendly meeting, my hands slipped off the lawn mower and before I could stop it, it had mowed down Mrs. Storrick's precious rose bushes.

'Oh no!' I gasped, running forward to stop it. Jay rushed towards it as well and switched it off. 'I-I'm so sorry!' I exclaimed. Although I did feel bad, I couldn't help feeling triumphant. Mrs. Storrick had never been very nice. It seemed that Jay felt the same way too, because he burst out laughing as he helped push the mower back into my shed. 'Please, don't apologise. I'm glad you did that. Even if you hadn't, I would have sooner or later. My mum cares more about those dying plants than she cares about me.' he explained.

'Oh, I see.' I was surprised he felt the same way about his mother.

'I'm Jay, by the way.' he added.

'I know.' I said, a bit shyly. 'And I'm Ivy.'

'I know.' he said, smiling.

'Why aren't you school?' I asked curiously.

'Why would I want to go to school with a bunch of losers who tease you? Besides I was kind of hoping to talk to you today, get to know you...you seem nice.' he admitted, looking straight into my eyes.

'Oh. Well, thanks. And thanks for not teasing me.' I answered, blushing.

'Hey, why would I ever do that? Your house is cool. And besides, I would never judge a girl by her house.' he said, reaching out to hold my hand.

Taking his hand, I smiled back at him. I had a feeling this would be a pretty good day.