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2022 February Unexpected Encounter
TO BELIEVE OR NOT TO...By Mirta Oliva
I’ve been in front of my computer for about one hour looking at the beautiful snowflakes dancing in disarray, following the movement of the wind. I was supposed to begin writing the February story for Writers 750 but nothing came to mind so the next best thing was to continue watching nature’s winter show as unique this time as any prior ones… And I dare say as any future one ever.
But how could I write a story about myths when I tend not to believe in them? I guess that due to my analytical nature--which became part of my banking career--I reject visions of ghosts or the supernatural, black cats’ superstitions, paranormal sightings, and so on. That’s not to say that I would visit a cemetery or any other solitary area after dark by myself. Not part of the latter are realistic happenings such as somnambulism--unavoidable acts by individuals of varied ages that can walk in their sleep with their eyes opened.
To be more specific, when I was a teenager, a school friend and I attended a theater event by a renowned European magician. At the beginning of his act, the illusionist selected us and about six other members of the public to join him in his upcoming act. While I reluctantly accepted, my friend was ecstatic. Before proceeding, the performer announced that we would be mildly hypnotized in order for us to follow his commands.
In the first act, the illusionist performed some mental tricks on us after which he said it was becoming very hot, repeating it over and over to the point that men began unbuttoning their shirts while women raised their hairs purportedly due to feeling the rise in temperature. Then he said that it had become very cold, extremely cold, after which most everyone--myself excepted--began acting as if they were in the North Pole without the proper attire. At the height of the act, pleased with the outcome, the magician said it was over, we were no longer hypnotized, and everything was going back to normal.
Surprisingly, the illusionist asked for those who felt the heat or cold to raise their hands. All did except three... and I was one of them. True to his trade, he then claimed that in reality, the first act was a test, that nobody was hypnotized, and that the three of us who felt nothing could step down since we would not be open-minded to participate in the show.
On another occasion, after an office luncheon at a restaurant, we went for a walk. Upon reaching a tarot reader sign, some decided to stop for a reading. Again, when it was my turn I provided no clues and the lady could not come up with anything of value. She said I owed her nothing since my mind was not open to working with her; however, others in the group were pleased with her “revelations.”
The above are just two random examples... While I respect what others believe in, I am a non-believer of mythical stories or paranormal situations that I cannot positively identify as true happenings. Thus, it may appear contradictory that I love to write fictional tales that could mimic true happenings or at times would add fantasy to the stories. But fantasy is not a belief, it is imaginary and I can deal with that.
Today, I had an unexpected encounter with a black cat. And we all know about the myths that seeing a black cat could bring us good or bad luck. Although I do not consider myself superstitious either, I began walking in the opposite direction pretending I had not laid eyes on the feline. As I walked, I felt the presence of someone following me and who could that be but the black cat? I began walking faster but now I could hear human footsteps strong enough to scare me. Should I look back or run for my life? The street was deserted so I began running as fast as I could… until I heard the cat growling and a commotion behind me. I looked back and there was a man on the floor with the black cat fiercely attacking him. I guess someone called the police who arrived in time. The Officer indicated the man was on their Wanted list and was apprehended.
As to the cat, he was docile enough to allow me to pet him; hence, I could show him my immense gratitude. I took my good-luck cat to the vet and there were no chips to identify his owner so I decided to adopt him. That noble animal sensed what was in the man’s mind and averted a possible attack or robbery. Since then, Meow (his new name) has been my companion and has made me a myth believer… sort of, which reminds me of the famous quote, “The images of myth are reflections of the spiritual potentialities in every one of us."
Mod
Mirta wrote: "TO BELIEVE OR NOT TO...
By Mirta Oliva
I’ve been in front of my computer for about one hour looking at the beautiful snowflakes dancing in disarray, following the movement of the wind. I was suppo..."
Rejoice wrote: "Wow, great start Mirta! I was hooked till the end and loved the twist in your story.Mirta wrote: "TO BELIEVE OR NOT TO...
By Mirta Oliva
I’ve been in front of my computer for about one hour look..."
Thank you, Rejoice!
Mod
Mirta wrote: "TO BELIEVE OR NOT TO...
By Mirta Oliva
...until I heard the cat growling and a commotion behind me. I looked back and there was a man on the floor with the black cat fiercely attacking him. I guess someone called the police who arrived in time. The Officer indicated the man was on their Wanted list and was apprehended...."
Glenda wrote: "Mirta, that was my kind of cat. Perrrrfect ending. :)Mirta wrote: "TO BELIEVE OR NOT TO...
By Mirta Oliva
...until I heard the cat growling and a commotion behind me. I looked back and there was..."
Thanks, Glenda. A cat has never owned me (dogs have) but I love and "understand" cats. I went around and around trying to comply with the guidelines and, who came to my rescue? MEOW!
That was a great read Mirta...elders for as far back as I remember talk about the uncanny ability of dogs and horses to sense and see spirits. A story I remember a relative sharing was a near-death experience where she left her body during surgery and travelled home. She looked in the kitchen window and saw everyone until the dogs began barking and she jumped back. She saw her dad looking out the window and she yelled and yelled, to no avail. She was revived and later shared this story, telling them exactly what each were doing on that specific night...they were in awe, but believed...your cat saw, and is your protector...sorry for the length of my response, but good story Mirta...
Mod
Tom, your response reminded me of what my husband shared with me. His grandmother was an atheist. My mother-in-law & father-in-law owned a little Chihuahua. When the grandmother died, the Chihuahua could sense a spirit in the house and started growling. But in another event, my mother-in-law was worried about my husband and couldn't sleep. The dog was at the foot of the bed. A heavenly voice "the most beautiful male voice" spoke to her, "Livinia, don't worry. I'll take care of your son." The Chihuahua walked to my mother-in-law's head, sniffed her ear, then walked back down to the foot of the bed. True stories.
P.S. I love the movie Hidalgo. At the end of the movie when "Blue Child" seems to give up hope to run the horse race in the desert, his ancestors appear and sing and dance giving him hope.
They’re all around us…thank you for sharing Glenda…
Mod
In case you'd like to see the trailer to Hidalgo, you can see it at YouTube. I own this movie & never get tired of seeing it.
https://youtu.be/i2sRtzNRDCA
Tom wrote: "That was a great read Mirta...elders for as far back as I remember talk about the uncanny ability of dogs and horses to sense and see spirits. A story I remember a relative sharing was a near-death..."Thanks, Tom, for your nice overview of various aspects of sensory perception by humans and animals as well. Somewhat further from the story is the fact that animals like dogs can detect when a person is having health issues and act according to their training or at times by intuition, thus saving lives.
Mod
Glenda wrote: "Tom wrote: "They’re all around us…thank you for sharing Glenda…"
In case you'd like to see the trailer to Hidalgo, you can see it at YouTube. I own this movie & never get tired of seeing it.
https..."
Mod
WIND SONG
798 words t.turner
For three nights I stood in silence gazing across the moors while the mist swirled around my body like tentacles from some unseen creature. Thousands of concealed eyes peered out from obscured shadows and the sweet smell of flowering vines concealed the hidden dangers of this land.
I had no recollection of how I came to be in this god-forsaken place. Loneliness seeped through my mind and now a driving urge to seek some form of companionship drove me towards higher ground.
My last memories were of my home far off in a world of advanced people on a dying planet. The haunting music of a wind song began weaving ancient words in my head filled with strange voices calling to me.
Soon, I came to an old wooden dwelling near a small village. I was welcomed by a woman named Sanora who was sweeping the hard barren ground in front of an open door.
She invited me in where dinner was about to be served. The dwelling was warmed by a wood fire of pine logs. A humble home where two children played happily on a large Indian rug in the middle of the room. A third child, younger than the others, lay on a woven blanket next to the fire.
Dinner was filled with children’s chatter. Sanora sat at one end of the table making sure everyone was served before serving herself. While we filled our bellies, my mind wandered to the boy on the blanket.
After dinner, Sanora added more wood to the fire and we sat staring into the flames. Once the two older children had gone to bed, I began to tell Sanora about my journey and of the gift my people gave to me. When she saw me looking at the child on the blanket, tears filled her eyes. She said, “his name is Zak. He came down with sickness after his father died. The healer in the village could do nothing for him.”
I went over and held the boy’s cold hand in mine. His skin was mottled with blue and purple patches. Then the ancient voices of the wind song passed through my body to the child.
After a few minutes, Zak opened his eyes and in a soft voice cried, “mama.” Sanora rushed to his side and gazed into my face searching for an answer. I told her she should not worry.
That night my bed was a cot in Drake’s room. The next morning I awoke to find Drake still fast asleep in his bed. Bright sunlight streamed through the window. I could hear voices outside so I dressed and went to the door. Sanora and Zak were there with the healer and a host of others from the village who had come to see the stranger who had healed Zak.
The healer was not happy when he saw me. He turned to the people saying, “this man is a false prophet who comes from the underworld.”
The people began to murmur among themselves and some picked up stones. But the healer held up his staff saying, “the time is not right. We will leave for now and convene a meeting of the council.”
Sanora was surprised and upset with the healer’s negative reaction. She said that a meeting of the council was not a good sign and that I should hide lest a mob come and stone me to death.
Although I didn’t know it at the time, it would be the last I would see of the family who had welcomed me into their lives.
The voices of the wind song led me to the forest where I lived with the animals.
About a year later, a man and a woman passed near my camp. They were on their way to see the healer of the village. With them was a very sick child named Hope. I invited them to my camp to rest, giving them food and water. They were in awe of the many animals that were there, especially, little Hope who, though very sick, smiled for the first time.
Before they continued their journey, I took Hope’s hand and told her of the happiness she soon would find. I could feel the wind song’s energy healing her body.
It has been nine years since my first encounter with humans. I often think about Sanora and the children. News travels slowly through the forest grapevine but word came that her youngest son, Zak, had been elected chief of the village.
The ancient voices still speak to me from time to time and I always feel peace and joy when I hear the sounds of the wind song.
‘The images of myth are reflections of the spiritual potentialities in every one of us.’ Joseph Campbell
798 words t.turner
For three nights I stood in silence gazing across the moors while the mist swirled around my body like tentacles from some unseen creature. Thousands of concealed eyes peered out from obscured shadows and the sweet smell of flowering vines concealed the hidden dangers of this land.
I had no recollection of how I came to be in this god-forsaken place. Loneliness seeped through my mind and now a driving urge to seek some form of companionship drove me towards higher ground.
My last memories were of my home far off in a world of advanced people on a dying planet. The haunting music of a wind song began weaving ancient words in my head filled with strange voices calling to me.
Soon, I came to an old wooden dwelling near a small village. I was welcomed by a woman named Sanora who was sweeping the hard barren ground in front of an open door.
She invited me in where dinner was about to be served. The dwelling was warmed by a wood fire of pine logs. A humble home where two children played happily on a large Indian rug in the middle of the room. A third child, younger than the others, lay on a woven blanket next to the fire.
Dinner was filled with children’s chatter. Sanora sat at one end of the table making sure everyone was served before serving herself. While we filled our bellies, my mind wandered to the boy on the blanket.
After dinner, Sanora added more wood to the fire and we sat staring into the flames. Once the two older children had gone to bed, I began to tell Sanora about my journey and of the gift my people gave to me. When she saw me looking at the child on the blanket, tears filled her eyes. She said, “his name is Zak. He came down with sickness after his father died. The healer in the village could do nothing for him.”
I went over and held the boy’s cold hand in mine. His skin was mottled with blue and purple patches. Then the ancient voices of the wind song passed through my body to the child.
After a few minutes, Zak opened his eyes and in a soft voice cried, “mama.” Sanora rushed to his side and gazed into my face searching for an answer. I told her she should not worry.
That night my bed was a cot in Drake’s room. The next morning I awoke to find Drake still fast asleep in his bed. Bright sunlight streamed through the window. I could hear voices outside so I dressed and went to the door. Sanora and Zak were there with the healer and a host of others from the village who had come to see the stranger who had healed Zak.
The healer was not happy when he saw me. He turned to the people saying, “this man is a false prophet who comes from the underworld.”
The people began to murmur among themselves and some picked up stones. But the healer held up his staff saying, “the time is not right. We will leave for now and convene a meeting of the council.”
Sanora was surprised and upset with the healer’s negative reaction. She said that a meeting of the council was not a good sign and that I should hide lest a mob come and stone me to death.
Although I didn’t know it at the time, it would be the last I would see of the family who had welcomed me into their lives.
The voices of the wind song led me to the forest where I lived with the animals.
About a year later, a man and a woman passed near my camp. They were on their way to see the healer of the village. With them was a very sick child named Hope. I invited them to my camp to rest, giving them food and water. They were in awe of the many animals that were there, especially, little Hope who, though very sick, smiled for the first time.
Before they continued their journey, I took Hope’s hand and told her of the happiness she soon would find. I could feel the wind song’s energy healing her body.
It has been nine years since my first encounter with humans. I often think about Sanora and the children. News travels slowly through the forest grapevine but word came that her youngest son, Zak, had been elected chief of the village.
The ancient voices still speak to me from time to time and I always feel peace and joy when I hear the sounds of the wind song.
‘The images of myth are reflections of the spiritual potentialities in every one of us.’ Joseph Campbell
Mod
TERRY wrote: "WIND SONG
798 words t.turner
For three nights I stood in silence gazing across the moors while the mist swirled around my body like tentacles from some unseen creature. Thousands of concealed eye..."
It is not easy to add many "next" events when limited to 1000 words. I rather like 1500 words max. However, maybe I can make a chapter 2 soon. Thanks for your comment.
Rejoice wrote: "What a beautiful tale Terry. Very vivid descriptions. I was completely caught up in the story, wondering what would happen next.
TERRY wrote: "WIND SONG
798 words t.turner
For three nights I sto..."
Rejoice wrote: "What a beautiful tale Terry. Very vivid descriptions. I was completely caught up in the story, wondering what would happen next.
TERRY wrote: "WIND SONG
798 words t.turner
For three nights I sto..."
Mod
TERRY wrote: "WIND SONG
798 words t.turner
For three nights I stood in silence gazing across the moors while the mist swirled around my body..."
Nicely done Mirta - great that you included the 750 itself too
interesting visual take on the theme Terry
Thanks for your comment, Arthur.
Arthur wrote: "interesting visual take on the theme Terry"
Arthur wrote: "interesting visual take on the theme Terry"
Improv 999 words “The images of myth are reflections of the spiritual potentialities in every one of us.” Joseph Campbell
How was I supposed to improvise on that? As a cue for my ten minute gag-fest slot I’d asked the audience to jot down their favorite quotations. In previous shows where I’d used this prompting devise they’d given me obvious lines from Shakespeare (To Be Or Not To Be) or King George 5th’s dying words (Bugger Bogner). This was serious stuff. I wish i’d glanced at it before reading it out and committing myself to the challenge.
I went with my state of confusion over such a complex statement. “The only Campbells I know are tins of chicken soup. Hey, didn’t Warhol design their labels. He said we’d all be famous for fifteen minutes one day. Getting this quotation to riff around means my fifteen minutes are over.”
From the baffled expressions I fear my line might be more prophetically accurate than witty. “I don’t suppose this Campbell geezer is here to explain himself is he?”
“He died in 1987,” yelled someone from the back of the room.
“Maybe he’ll give us a second coming like the other JC,” I retorted, eliciting a few giggles but also many gasps as though some of the audience were unsure if I'd crossed the lines into taboo-ville politically incorrect trigger territory.
In the wings of the Preston, Lancashire Cassandra Bar function hall, the manager, Ken Shawton was texting out, probably cancelling the four future gigs I had booked.
“This is Myths-firing badly for me,” I quipped to the sullen audience.
They could see me flailing, turning comedy to tragedy before their eyes.
What did I recall of the old stories? Not much. The skeleton fight from Jason & The Argonauts, and scenes from TV shows. Inspired! I asked who remembered Xena Warrior Princess, and got a few nods of delight. I did my best effort at the Xena yell. I sounded like Tarzan gargling PCP, and said so. It got a laugh.
I threw another mythology pop-culture line out. “Release The Kraken!” That was it. Everyone laughed except the guy who set the challenge on me. He was squirming. His mates were grinning as much at his embarrassment, I realized what might be going on. The scumbag was trying to stump me deliberately. He’d probably bet he could make me dry up and die on stage. That’s what they call it when a comedian fails to be funny, dying.
I stuck with the Kraken. “They sell Kraken rum here I expect. You’ll get a glass for a few squid.”
That got more laughs than it deserved.
I got on to Narcissus, so in love with himself that he drowned in his own vanity. “Hands up who doesn’t know someone like that?” I asked. Everyone raised a hand except one. Guess who? I led the crowd in the chorus of Carly Simon’s ‘You’re So Vain’ but changed a few words and pointed directly to my detractor. “You probably think this joke is about you, don’t you?”
He sank back in his chair as if I’d just punched him.
Rolling now, revealing a true Midas touch. That gave me a few gags to juggle with too. “How could Midas use the urinals? He had to touch himself then, surely….”
That was a bit of a wobble, but I got back on form. “They call the Food Of The Gods Ambrosia. Did that mean they were very fond of tinned rice pudding?”
“Then this Campbell dude starts prattling about ‘spiritual potentialities.’ He must have been smoking some serious ganja there. I’m considering taking some potent spirits after the show, maybe a glass of Kraken.” The crowd shouted the punchline in perfect union. ‘Release The Kraken’. Guess I had myself a catchphrase.
I saw the now grinning bar manager tapping his tablet again, confident he was sending out messages to cancel my cancellations. I thanked the audience and told them I was grateful for them making me as rich as Croesus, adding, “and on your way out, remember not to pay the Ferryman.”
I watched some other comics going through their sets. I had a pint of Porter on the house (no I don’t drink rum) as my would be nemesis approached looking intense. “You did well there, Mike.”
“Thanks,” I said, adding, “Don’t set such challenging riddles for the turns in future. It’s just a bit of fun.”
He shrugged. I asked him where he went to to fill his head with such ivory tower twaddle. “Oxford? Cambridge?”
He declined to answer. I asked his name. “Nemesis,” he said.
I vaguely recalled the name from what little I knew of mythology. A vengeance God. I smirked. “Funny. What’s your real name?”
He glowered at me. “In the 70’s you made fun of my Dad for stuttering. You kept imitating him while you were on the stage after you spoke to him briefly before your act. My Dad was self conscious about his condition. He killed himself a few days later. I was too young then to see your show. I recently learned you were still around. I decided to try to humiliate you. Guess it didn’t work.”
“Hey, sorry about your Dad, but you must know comedy was different then. Racist gags, sexist gags. No one way I’d do any of that stuff now. Unless there was a Kraken in the audience I doubt if I offended anyone tonight.”
He almost broke into a smile, but instead he broke out a knife and then broke my stomach open with it. “You’re spiritual potential is death,” he said, give my regards to Charon.”
“Who’s Sharon?” I asked, not even realizing the unintentional mishearing was my funniest gag of the night.
I survived, (after almost taking dying on stage rather literally). Nemesis, who’s real name I’m not sharing, went to jail, hopefully getting some hard labour, maybe even twelve hard labours. If you don’t get that joke, read some Joseph Campbell.
Arthur Chappell
Mod
Loved the one liners; and I use to love the song "You're so vain." by Carly Simon :)
Arthur wrote: "Improv 999 words
“The images of myth are reflections of the spiritual potentialities in every one of us.” Joseph Campbell ..."
It is an actual rum brand - always amuses me when I see it thanks to the Clash Of The Titans film https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YUrkk...
Good story, Mirta. Funny you mentioned kids walking in their sleep with eyes open as I was thinking about that very thing earlier today. I was one of those kids. I remembered none of it.
Mirta wrote: "TO BELIEVE OR NOT TO...
By Mirta Oliva
I’ve been in front of my computer for about one hour looking at the beautiful snowflakes dancing in disarray, following the movement of the wind. I was suppo..."
Mirta wrote: "TO BELIEVE OR NOT TO...
By Mirta Oliva
I’ve been in front of my computer for about one hour looking at the beautiful snowflakes dancing in disarray, following the movement of the wind. I was suppo..."
Good story, Arthur. I saw The Clash of the Titans years ago with a friend and over the years we would use that phrase RELEASE THE KRAKEN whenever appropriate to get a laugh.
Arthur wrote: "Improv 999 words
“The images of myth are reflections of the spiritual potentialities in every one of us.” Joseph Campbell
How was I supposed to improvise on that? As a cue for my ten minute gag..."
Arthur wrote: "Improv 999 words
“The images of myth are reflections of the spiritual potentialities in every one of us.” Joseph Campbell
How was I supposed to improvise on that? As a cue for my ten minute gag..."
Mod
Arthur wrote: "It is an actual rum brand - always amuses me when I see it thanks to the Clash Of The Titans film https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YUrkk..."
I have a bottle in as we speak - sounds like product placement if I mention them too much, lol
DREAMLANDThere are times when I look forward to being here, but, on other occasions, I simply dread this place. These journeys begin once I close my eyes and clasp my pouch. Slowly, ever so slowly, the transition like that from day to night is so subtle, yet so inevitable, that it’s pointless to stop or hurry the process—I just simply let it be.
Dreamland is a place much like a carnival. It’s a place where one can find just about anything from the mundane to the spectacular, or from the mystical to the monotonous. And, so many places to visit, from the familiar to the faint, and from the predictable to the unknowable, with characters of every description and intent, each a journey in itself. This was not a place I would call home.
It was by pure fluke to have found a stitch undone in that fabric which kept together, or kept separate, Dreamland and from what many people simply referred to as existence. While on a four day fast in a cave in the mountains, a squirrel poked its head out from a burrow precisely where the rock met the ground and questioned: “Will you be here long?” This puzzled me as I was only on day two of my fast without food or water. I closed my eyes for a moment, then opened them and looked toward where the squirrel was; it was still there. “Well,” he asked rather impatiently. “Will you be here long?” I scratched my head and decided to answer. “I’m here for another two days,” I began. “I’m fasting.” The squirrel looked at me and then laughed. “I like you. Would you like to come with me?” Where can this squirrel possibly take me, I thought? But, it was my curiosity, above reason, that took over. “Sure, why not.”
“Carry this pouch with you,” explained the squirrel. “Tie it around your neck and don’t, I repeat, don’t ever take it off once we enter this place I’m bringing you to, okay?” The squirrel stared intently at me. “Do you understand?” I simply nodded my head as it gave me a small bag. It was made with a material I had never seen or felt before. I tied it around my neck and began to feel like the air inside of me was being released from every pore in my body, and that I became the air that floated gloriously about. “Let’s go,” was all that the squirrel said.
We tunnelled our way from the hole from which the squired had appeared and almost instantly entered into this place called Dreamland. “This place is alive, and filled with everything you have ever imagined. But, there are things here that you’ve never seen or felt. Be careful when you must, and throw caution to the wind when you can. Just don’t ever let anyone ever take that pouch away from you,” he stressed. “What will happen if someone takes it?” I questioned. The squirrel shot a sideways glance at me and said: “You’ll remain here forever.”
The pouch, and whatever was wrapped inside, kept me invisible, or so it seemed. Together, we drifted past scenes of pleasure, pain, ecstasy, beauty, lust, greed, horror, virtue and the vanity of deceit. It was at one point of this journey when the squirrel realized that it must leave for a moment. “Stay here,” was all it said as it scurried off into the maze. “I won’t be long.”
Like a stranger in a faraway place, my eyes and ears filled quickly with every sight and sound imaginable. I then felt someone standing beside me. “Hi handsome,” murmured one of the most beautiful ladies I ever laid my eyes upon. “Would you like company?” My mind unhesitatingly raced yes, but my reason slowed me down. “I would love to,” I replied. “But I’m waiting for someone.” I found myself adrift in her eyes. “Oh, I suppose you’re waiting for the pesky little squirrel,” she said. “He’s nothing but trouble. My goodness, that’s a pretty pouch you have there. Can I hold it?” Remembering the squirrel’s warning, I fidgeted about for a moment, and tried to change the subject: “You’re very beautiful.” Just as she was about to answer, the squirrel returned and the lady, whose beauty I was becoming entrapped in, fizzled before me into a hideous being, and floated away, laughing: “I’ve got you in my sights now my pretty, pretty young man. I’m not going to be very far from you.” Her laughter echoed into the marrow of my senses.
As we were to journey deeper into Dreamland, the squirrel said: “If you ever want to return to the cave, simply cup the pouch and blow gently into the palms of your hands. Let the warmth of your breath bring you back. But, remember, the images of myth are reflections of the spiritual potentialities in every one of us; you gotta know the difference.”
I was in a place where I experienced no hunger, no thirst. Time didn’t exist and I couldn’t figure out what the reason was in describing this place, or if existence was just cleverly disguised in a veil of monotony that hypnotized the senses into a belief of purpose. In the back of my mind, I faintly remembered my journey, my fast. It almost seemed I was losing why I travelled up the mountain, to seek answers. And here I was, in the midst of calamity, chaos, insanity, disbelief and utter strangeness, with characters beyond description, and it was me, and only me, I believed, who came from another world, another plane of existence to experience this. What was I expecting? What did I want to see? What did I want to learn?
‘Damn,’ I thought. ‘I really don’t have a choice.’
I clasped the pouch, took a deep breath and followed the squirrel, further and further into Dreamland.
Thank you Arthur...I will catch up my readings very soon...
Mod
Tom wrote: "DREAMLAND
There are times when I look forward to being here, but, on other occasions, I simply dread this place. These journeys begin once I close my eyes and clasp my pouch. Slowly, ever so slowl..."
I thought about enhancing her, but, perhaps in another story...Thank you Glenda...
Mod
Arthur wrote: "Improv 999 words
“The images of myth are reflections of the spiritual potentialities in every one of us.” Joseph Campbell
How was I supposed to improvise on that? As a cue for my ten minute gag..."
Arthur wrote: "Improv 999 words
“The images of myth are reflections of the spiritual potentialities in every one of us.” Joseph Campbell
How was I supposed to improvise on that? As a cue for my ten minute gag..."
Mod
Tom wrote: "DREAMLAND
There are times when I look forward to being here, but, on other occasions, I simply dread this place. These journeys begin once I close my eyes and clasp my pouch. Slowly, ever so slowl..."
Rejoice wrote: "You got me Arthur, you got me. Like they say "When you know, you know!"Arthur wrote: "Improv 999 words
“The images of myth are reflections of the spiritual potentialities in every one of us.” J..." Thanks Rejoice
TERRY wrote: "Good story, Mirta. Funny you mentioned kids walking in their sleep with eyes open as I was thinking about that very thing earlier today. I was one of those kids. I remembered none of it. Mirta wr..."
Thanks, Terry. That's the way it is. Those kids or persons have no idea of what they are doing. I am very familiar with a case involving a little girl. Doors and windows had protective locks since they are known to walk away from home. The girl used to silently walk toward and stand still for minutes in front of her nanny's bed. It can be frightful to see. After a while, the girl simply returned slowly to her bed. From what you are saying, it appears the sleep-walking goes away by itself.
Terry, what a nice write of a lonely traveler who possessed those magical, or mystical, gifts of healing. The strange world eventually opened its doors and accepted him, even though he eventually resided in the wilderness. The animals who lived nearby points to the positive energy associated with his gift of healing…I’m glad he didn’t get stoned by the villagers swayed by their own healer who displayed the negative aspects of his role in meeting the needs of the villagers in those dark times of sickness…very well written…Arthur, your story was very nicely crafted using modernisms with myth…I enjoy reading stories that make me do research and this story provided the opportunity to learn much more…from Nemesis to Charon the images added so much more to your story…and the twist at the ending was pleasantly surprising…I enjoyed this very much…excellent work…
Very clever story, Tom. I enjoyed the read.
Tom wrote: "DREAMLAND
There are times when I look forward to being here, but, on other occasions, I simply dread this place. These journeys begin once I close my eyes and clasp my pouch. Slowly, ever so slowl..."
Tom wrote: "DREAMLAND
There are times when I look forward to being here, but, on other occasions, I simply dread this place. These journeys begin once I close my eyes and clasp my pouch. Slowly, ever so slowl..."
Good story, Mirta. Made me think it was something that you actually experienced.
Mirta wrote: "TO BELIEVE OR NOT TO...
By Mirta Oliva
I’ve been in front of my computer for about one hour looking at the beautiful snowflakes dancing in disarray, following the movement of the wind. I was suppo..."
Mirta wrote: "TO BELIEVE OR NOT TO...
By Mirta Oliva
I’ve been in front of my computer for about one hour looking at the beautiful snowflakes dancing in disarray, following the movement of the wind. I was suppo..."
TERRY wrote: "Good story, Mirta. Made me think it was something that you actually experienced. Mirta wrote: "TO BELIEVE OR NOT TO...
By Mirta Oliva
I’ve been in front of my computer for about one hour looking..."
TERRY wrote: "Very clever story, Tom. I enjoyed the read.
Tom wrote: "DREAMLAND
There are times when I look forward to being here, but, on other occasions, I simply dread this place. These journeys begin once..."
Thank you Terry...
Mod
Today is the final day to submit your entries for this month’s contest.
Get your story in so we too can enjoy your creativity.
Also, you gotta be in it to win it! 🙂
Mod
Thank you!
Thanks.
Rejoice wrote: "Once submissions are closed I will share a link to Survey Monkey where you can vote.
Thank you!"
Rejoice wrote: "Once submissions are closed I will share a link to Survey Monkey where you can vote.
Thank you!"
Mod
This month’s submissions:
To Believe Or Not To Believe by Mirta Oliva
Wind Song by Terry Turner
Improv by Arthur Chappell
Dreamland by Tom
Voting link to follow.
Mod
The February Contest is now closed. You can vote whether or not you submitted a story.
Please submit your votes via the link below.
https://www.surveymonkey.co.uk/r/29RLPY8
TERRY wrote: "WIND SONG798 words t.turner
For three nights I stood in silence gazing across the moors while the mist swirled around my body like tentacles from some unseen creature. Thousands of concealed eye..."
Love your creativity, Terry. I liked your story from beginning to end.
* All stories must contain this quote by Joseph Campbell anywhere in the story “The images of myth are reflections of the spiritual potentialities in every one of us."
Prompt 1
You are a mythical being with powers and abilities of your choice. There are rumours of sightings and encounters, but anyone who makes such claims is written off as a fanatic, or plain gullible. You appear in folktales and fables but ultimately, people do not believe you exist. Write a story about your first encounter with a human and describe the moment they discover the truth of your existence.
Prompt 2
You are a stand-up comic, and have spent most of your life making people laugh. You were on the verge of signing a major television deal to have your own prime time comedy show, when tragedy struck and you found yourself struggling to laugh again. Then you meet someone who changes everything.
Prompt 3
Use a prompt of your own choosing in line with the theme.
Setting – Any
Plot – your choice
Length: 750 to 1,000 Words
Deadline: Friday, February 25, 2022.
Voting will take place between Saturday February 26, 2022 to Monday February 28th. Winners will be posted in this thread on Tuesday March 1st, 2022.
Challenge Guidelines – Skip over this comment section if you are familiar with the Writers 750 Challenge.
Genre: Fantasy, Thriller, Sci-Fi, Mystery, Crime, Comedy, Romance, or a mixture (BASICALLY, anything but erotica)
Purpose -
Some fiction writers are looking to win a short story contest, keeping in touch with making deadlines, and/or simply sharpening the skill of writing fiction. The main purpose of this contest is to sharpen plot and character skills, collect your own short stories, receive good feedback, make a good connection with other writers, and take a short break from your current novel to get a fresh view when you return to it.
Rules and Directions -
* Type in English - a minimum of 750 words; a maximum of 1,000 words; no erotica, no profanity.
* Post your title, by line, and word count total in the first line of your story posting.
* Writers are responsible for their own copyright. Authors keep all rights. PRIVACY POLICY IS ENFORCED. COPYRIGHTS AND INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY RIGHTS BELONG TO INDIVIDUAL AUTHORS. THIS CONTEST DOES NOT GRANT ANY PERSON THE RIGHT OR LICENSE TO COPY OR USE OTHER STORIES. EACH STORY IS PROTECTED BY THE COPYRIGHT OF THE ORIGINAL AUTHOR.
* ONE entry per person, must be writer's original work, a final revision, and a new piece of writing. Please do not delete and repost since this becomes confusing to the readers. Try to post your final revision.
Judging: The story will be judged on creativity, proper grammar, good punctuation, and overall good quality for story.
Voting: Please vote for first, second, and third place. You are not allowed to vote for yourself. If posting this month, you MUST vote for your story to remain eligible