This week’s response is provided by my kids. Following are two different stories using the prompt. Aside from a small amount of editing, these stories come straight from them and are written in their own voices. I hope you enjoy them.
Thor’s Hammer, by Isaiah
All this happened, more or less. I’ll fill you in on the whole story. I was sitting on the couch, veging out in front of the TV. All of a sudden I heard a CRASH. It was coming from the kitchen. Like any kid would do, I went to investigate. Now I don’t know what I was expecting but certainly not the hammer sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor. I cautiously advanced and slowly picked it up. It began to glow. Suddenly a bolt of lightning shot out of the hammer at the microwave. The microwave might have exploded. All I could say was “Uh oh!” When my mom saw the cracked tiles where the hammer hit and the exploded microwave, she was going to freak. Just then a dog appeared, shadow except for brilliantly white teeth. Suddenly more lightning shot out of the hammer, and the dog disappeared. Then it hit me: this was Thors’ hammer. And if it was, then I was his son.
Wild Thing, by Sarah
All this happened, more or less. School. I hate school. In a classroom with twenty other kids. Two are my friends. Five are my siblings. Thirteen kids that I don’t know. And Mama’s teaching. Mama’s great at teaching. I’m just tired. I hardly slept last night. Then, all of a sudden, I’m not in a classroom learning about World War II. I’m out on the prairie with a bunch of wild horses. I’m not even scared. I just run up and jump on one’s back. It’s immediately tamed. I’m riding out here on the prairie with my new horse. It’s wonderful! Then I’m back in the classroom again. Mama’s still talking about World War II. Class is almost over. Aw man!
A little boy was walking in the woods one day. He tripped over a stump and fell on his face with a thump. He started to get up and realized he had fallen at the edge of a pond. A giant bullfrog stared him right in the eyes.
The little boy reached to pet it, but the frog took a leap and landed right on his face. The little boy was so startled that he jumped backwards, tripped over his own feet, and landed on his back. His head hit the stump with a thump. The bullfrog croaked and blinked while the little boy rubbed his sore head.
Finally he sat up and peeled the frog off his face. Just then a baby bird fell out of the nest right on the top of his head with a thump. He threw the bullfrog back into the pond, carefully cradled the baby bird in his hands, and looked around for a nest.
On a branch just too high to reach, the mama bird scolded him, chittering angrily. The little boy climbed up, but just as he returned the baby to its home, the mama bird fluttered into his face, the branch he stood on cracked, and he fell to the ground with a thump.
Rubbing his sore rump and shaking his sore head, the little boy stepped carefully over the stump and went home. The bullfrog jumped out of the pond and landed on the stump. Thump.
(Author’s note: This story is a collaboration between my eight year old son and me. I gave him the word prompt “thump” and he told me this story. All I did was clean it up and embellish it a little. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.)
The month of March is all about books! This week in particular, at least for Smashwords readers, is super special. Books of all shapes and sizes are discounted all week, just begging to be downloaded and devoured by eager imaginations!
_Chosen_, a story of magic, dragons, and prophecy, is one of those. Seline finds herself face to face with the myths and legends that made her childhood bearable, and embarks on a mission to save two worlds from a powerful evil. A nobody all her life, she must also come to terms with her true identity and learn to use for good the power hidden deep within her.
This book is a great read for anyone who loves the fantasy genre. A wide cast of characters, magical accidents, adventure, a hint of romance, and of course dragons will appeal to young and old alike. This week only, and only on Smashwords, _Chosen_ can be downloaded for 50% off, bringing it under $4! Check it out, along with all the other amazing reads highlighted this week.
The street was empty, oddly so. That squirmy feeling was back between my shoulder blades, and I scowled at the too bright clouds overhead. Why on earth had Lakra sent me here? Cryptic to a fault, that one. Trustworthy? I still wasn’t sure.
I knocked on the wooden door set deep in the stone, my other hand rubbing the filigree of my sword grip. The door flew open and a wrinkled hand shoved a scroll into my chest before it slammed shut again. I scrabbled to hang onto the rolled paper, staring at the worn boards as if they might bite me at any moment. “Hello? Nice to meet you too?”
Nothing but silence answered me, and I stepped back into the street to examine the scroll. “This better be worth it!” I yelled at no one in particular as I unrolled it. Inside were two lines of angular marks and a sketch of a river basin. “Seriously? Hell runes?” I was going to kill Lakra when I saw him again. A simple quest, that’s what I told him. Just for a few golds. And he sent me for hell runes. I made a fist around the scroll, crumpling it irredeemably, and stomped back down the still empty street.
Two weeks ago we embarked on a new adventure by adding six chicks to our flock of three. I grew up with chickens; I thought I was prepared. From day one these birds set out to prove me wrong.
To begin with, I didn’t realize how small four week old pullets were under all those brand new feathers. We left the house for two hours the first evening, and when we came back after dark all six had blissfully jumped through the dog wire of their run and bedded down two feet outside of the fence. I managed to pick them up three at a time and snuggle them in my shirt tail back into their appropriate sleeping area.
After adding chicken wire to the entire perimeter the next morning (while continually chasing escaped chicks), I heaved a sigh of relief. It was taken as a challenge by those overly curious toddler birds. I had built their run attached to the existing run for socialization, but separated by mesh that I could easily cut out later. By afternoon they had found a way through a gap in the mesh barrier and delightedly raided kitchen scraps under the indignant beaks of their elders. I managed to chase them back through their convenient hole and close it up before bedding them down for the night.
Problem not solved. Not a day went by for the next week that didn’t find me chasing houdini pullets and closing up microscopic escape routes. In the meantime, like all toddlers, they emptied their (supposedly chick-friendly) feeder all over the ground, turned over their water dispensers repeatedly when they weren’t kicking grass and bedding into them, and made a mess of their sleeping quarters.
It wasn’t all bad; the amount of time I spent corraling those birds meant they got used to me. By the end of a week they would call back to me when I talked to them, and when I let them out in the morning they would squabble and flutter so close to me that their wings hit me. When I brought food they would rush the gate so I had to be careful not to step on them. For a day or two they seemed to have settled in.
Then they discovered how to breach the blocked holes. Peck until the thing moves, then scratch it out of the way. Fly higher and find the hidden gap at the top. Dig a new hole! Me and those pullets spent a whole lot more quality time together. They started to argue with me and throw themselves at the door to their little coop when I didn’t open it fast enough to suit them. They started trying to eat my shoes and investigating my clothes.
We settled again for a day or two into a routine; all the escape routes seemed to be managed, and I started thinking about raking the big run in preparation for joining. I didn’t reckon on just how devious my little friends were, and I set myself up for what had to be the funniest chicken story ever.
I headed out to bed them down, but I knew as soon as I rounded the corner of the house something was amiss. I could hear them from much farther than usual, and couldn’t see them in their run. Yep, you guessed it. All six pullets were in the big run, merrily exploring in and out of the big coop. It might have been a boring story if they had stayed there.
They heard me coming. All six rushed to the gate, chirping madly in greeting. Their elders were already asleep, having the sense to know it was nearly dark, but not them! Did I mention the gate to the big run is dog wire? By the time I could get it open, those overly excited birds had pushed through and were running circles around the pen, cackling wildly. I called for reinforcements: extra hands and food.
The food was a dismal failure; they weren’t the least bit hungry. They were, however, delighted to stay up late and intended to keep that illicit privilege in spite of me. My eight year old son covered himself in glory by catching three by himself; my husband caught one. The others came to see what all the fuss was about and that was one battle won.
The next was to get them in the coop; they were gonna sleep with their elders because I wasn’t even trying to get them back through whatever new hole they discovered. I carried the food inside followed by chicks. By now they had already pecked up my shoes and tried to burrow under my shirt tail while I squatted trying to keep them contained as we caught them. They had finally realized it was bedtime, had decided I was mom, and as far as they were concerned I wasn’t leaving. Three surrounded my foot and snuggled up, one fluttered up the roost and perched on my wrist, and two curled up on my back as I bent over trying to reach things. They weren’t moving.
Once again my son came to the rescue. He closed the door so they couldn’t get spooked and escape, then moved them off me one at a time. While they were flapping around complaining about it, we ducked out and locked them in. By then it was completely dark and I wasn’t sure what gifts had been left on my shirt. In case the solar-powered but temperamental door decided to actually open at sunrise the way it’s supposed to, we hung a blanket over the gate until I can add chicken wire. What would you like to bet I find those chickens in the yard tomorrow morning anyway?
“Take this bottle. It holds everything you need to accomplish your quest.”
“This bottle? Are you sure?”
“Of course! This is my personal creation, the most advanced I have ever produced. When you arrive at the Dungeon, wait for sunrise. Set the bottle in the exact center of the trapdoor just as the red sky turns gold. It will cast a glowing key into the invisible lock, granting you entrance. But under no circumstances drink any of the liquid inside before entering the dungeon, or all will be lost.”
“Don’t – what? Why would I drink it? It’s marked poison! With a big skull and crossbones! Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Don’t be ridiculous! That is all part of the master plan. No one would ever want to drink poison, therefore I created this disguise to ensure the key remained in your possession until required.”
“So, if it isn’t poison, and you said don’t drink it before entering, when do I drink it? And what will it do for me?”
“Has your skull thickened? The liquid will kill you, it is acid of the highest potency! Unless you intend to rot in the Dungeon forever with your precious Cleric, you must pour it over the invisible lock before the trapdoor closes behind you and traps you inside.”
“You’re insane. If I do manage to rescue the Cleric on the strength of your planning, it will be a miracle.”
“Naturally. I will be raised to Eternal Mage for this. I promise not to forget you when I have been sanctified.”
Baby has a busy day ahead, fixing problems from cats in trees to burst pipes. A superhero’s work is never done. Not even dirty diapers and naps can keep her down for long. But what will Baby do when her nemesis turns up in her very own nursery?
This book is perfect for any young child who loves superheroes. They’ll fly around your living room saving the world like Superhero Baby. If a little sibling rivalry interrupts the fun, well, Baby has that covered too. Enjoy a few giggles before the kids drift off to sleep along with Baby.
Frog and Toad are best friends. When one gets into trouble, the other is always there to rescue him. When one has a problem, the other is always there to help him solve it. Whether planting a garden, cleaning a house, or trying not to eat all the cookies, neither does anything without the other. Everything becomes an adventure when they are together.
This book is a timeless classic portraying childhood, innocence, and friendship. My seven year old learned to read with Frog and Toad, and they are still his favorite book friends. What child hasn’t impatiently waited for seeds to grow or pretended not to be afraid of something scary? Your children will laugh, learn, and grow right along with their new amphibian friends.
(I’d like to thank my kids for their contributions to this week’s prompted flash fiction. Sometimes the real life conversations are far funnier than any story I can come up with.”
“Hey, kids, y’all wanna give me story ideas? They have to connect to this lighthouse picture.”
“Me, me, me! Let me see the picture! How about the Lighthouse Girl? A girl was travelling, trying to find a magical world that doesn’t exist. Instead she found the lighthouse, and lived in the lighthouse and made friends in the little town.”
“But what does the lighthouse have to do with a magical world? You can’t just throw things together that don’t connect and call them a story.”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, I have an idea! It has a lot of rooms, and people are fighting inside!”
“Why were they fighting inside?”
“Because it was raining. When the rain stopped they ran down all the stairs to the bottom, but the door was locked and the key was lost! It was a dark house! And there was a little girl running like Sonic to find the lighthouse, but she found the dark house instead, and there was a Shadowman!”
“My turn! There was a town with a lighthouse. The lighthouse had always made people feel safe. One day a woman became the principle of the local school, Lighthouse Public School, but she was really mean. She gradually took over the town and named herself queen, making everyone in the town her miserable slaves. She decided she needed an army to conquer the world, so gathered all the townspeople…”
“What does the lighthouse have to do with all this?”
“She had shut down the lighthouse. When she was about to march and conquer all of Mississippi, the lighthouse suddenly came to light, brighter than ever before. The woman was revealed to be a demon and faded away.”
“Ummm… Once upon a time there was a little girl and a lighthouse. She and her father owned the lighthouse and kept it running until one day it broke down. They tried to fix it but they couldn’t, so her father threw the keys in the trash. The little girl was very sad and did everything in her ppwer to get the lighthouse running again.”
“Did she succeed?”
“Um, it took her a few months but she did succeed. Everyone in the town was very happy. The end.”
“Hmm, something about Christmas.”
“In a lighthouse? On a summer day?!”
“Once upon a time it was Christmas Eve. This little girl and boy and their dad went to cut down a Christmas tree. They found the perfect one and cut it down, and brought it into their house.”
“Hold on, what does this have to do with a lighthouse?”
“The lighthouse is their home. They decorated their tree, but the star was missing. They bought one and it arrived that day.”
“Is that the end?”
“No. Hmm. They opened the box, got a ladder, and put the star on top. Also they built a fire, and beds, blankets, and pillows. And they were comfortable happy ever after. The end.”
The whistle blew, a cheery sound in the crisp air. Even the steam from the pipe crystallized into gray mist that blended with the distant mountain peaks. The world around lay white and silent, the train with its crimson cars and bright window frames a brilliant spot of color.
Inside the warm cars passengers laughed and talked, excited to be sharing the experience of travelling to see family and friends for Christmas. Many carried gifts wrapped in bright fabrics or butcher paper and tied together with brilliant ribbons or twine. Children escaped their distracted mothers and ran up and down the aisles, shrieking with laughter.
Suddenly the train slowed, then stopped. Worried passengers lifted windows to peer out, oblivious to the frigid air that poured into the compartments. Some complained with offended vehemence when the conductor passed through with a hurried explanation that a tree had fallen across the track. Would everyone please be patient while the engineers cleared the track? It would be a bit of a wait, but they would be underway again as soon as possible, never fear.
A couple of strapping young fellows rushed boisterously out into the snow to volunteer their services with an ax and make themselves generally underfoot. Some of the women took advantage of the halt to relieve muscles cramped from long hours on wooden benches that vibrated with the motion of the wheels. They trudged up and down the snowy tracks, wrapped tightly in voluminous cloaks while their irrepressible children dashed about soaking their clothes in snowdrifts and forgetting hats and scarves in the general excitement.
The whistle blew sharply, calling for a mad scramble back into the cars before a puff and a rattle set them moving again. “William!” A voice drifted through the steam as it rose above the icy trees. The small boy leaped to his feet and clattered from the room, tossing a glance over his shoulder at the train waiting on its track under the tree before shutting the door on the Christmas wonders to come.
The Word Worker 