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The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by jgonzalez5671

Knock, Knock

     She ran to the door, surprised to have heard the rapping sound of what surely was her savior.  Hopefully. He didn't have time for another jab to her jaw.  He reached out to stop her, worried, but his drunken arms were too slow.

     It had been this way for months.  When he first lost his job, it began with taunts: "I don't know why I married you.," he'd say, "You're so stupid!"  And, then (and ever since) she wondered, too, why she married him.  But, it seemed so hard to right what was wrong.  And, so many, many things were wrong.  Was anything right anymore?  

     Shortly after the taunts- and, not so coincidentally, with the increase of liquid/liquor courage, the verbal abuse turned physical.  Like dipping his toe in cold water, it began with a slap across the face.  Perhaps she asked for it, because she told him he drank too much.

     "Shut up, Susan," was all he said.  Then he slapped her, hard.  She didn't cry.  Wouldn't give him the satisfaction.  But, in the bathroom the sting of the antiseptic sang to her, in the words of an old ditty- "We've only just begun...".

     Sure enough, the slaps grew more and more forceful.  Beer not cold enough.  Slap.  Dinner not his preference.  Slap.  Floor not vacuumed.  Slap.  Dishes in the sink.  Slap.  Bad mood.  Slap.

     When she returned from her waitress job at Kathy's Diner, sore feet and smelling of grease, her fingers trembled as they grasped her front door's handle.  What waited inside?  Tiptoeing in, when all she wanted was to put her feet up.   To sit, for one minute.  But, no.

     The slaps turned to punches.  Even drunk, he could dredge up some great force behind those punches.  They almost always landed in her gut.  This was fine.  The pit that sat in her belly all these months could take it.  Still, no tears.

     But then this knock at the door.  Just as Evan was landing a third punch to the gut.  He liked to grab me by the shoulders.  Center his target, I guess.  But, the knock.  I turned just as he was about to swing.  As he stumbled and fell on the kitchen linoleum floor, I reached the front door.

     As the door opened, the strangers black boot held the screen door ajar.  The stranger before me blocked the evening sun behind him.  I couldn't quite make him out.  Tall.  Yes, had to more than six and a half feet.  Dark pants.  Dark shirt.  Black, I think.  But he was in shadow.  A hoodie over his head.  A goatee of dark, dark hair.  He didn't say a word, but nodded ever so slightly to Evan.  I turned back to see my husband lying, motionless, on the floor where I left him.  The stranger held out his hand.  In it, a human heart.

     "Oh Evan," with a smile, she held his heart in her own hand, "it's for you."

  

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The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by jgonzalez5671
Knock, Knock
     She ran to the door, surprised to have heard the rapping sound of what surely was her savior.  Hopefully. He didn't have time for another jab to her jaw.  He reached out to stop her, worried, but his drunken arms were too slow.
     It had been this way for months.  When he first lost his job, it began with taunts: "I don't know why I married you.," he'd say, "You're so stupid!"  And, then (and ever since) she wondered, too, why she married him.  But, it seemed so hard to right what was wrong.  And, so many, many things were wrong.  Was anything right anymore?  
     Shortly after the taunts- and, not so coincidentally, with the increase of liquid/liquor courage, the verbal abuse turned physical.  Like dipping his toe in cold water, it began with a slap across the face.  Perhaps she asked for it, because she told him he drank too much.
     "Shut up, Susan," was all he said.  Then he slapped her, hard.  She didn't cry.  Wouldn't give him the satisfaction.  But, in the bathroom the sting of the antiseptic sang to her, in the words of an old ditty- "We've only just begun...".
     Sure enough, the slaps grew more and more forceful.  Beer not cold enough.  Slap.  Dinner not his preference.  Slap.  Floor not vacuumed.  Slap.  Dishes in the sink.  Slap.  Bad mood.  Slap.
     When she returned from her waitress job at Kathy's Diner, sore feet and smelling of grease, her fingers trembled as they grasped her front door's handle.  What waited inside?  Tiptoeing in, when all she wanted was to put her feet up.   To sit, for one minute.  But, no.
     The slaps turned to punches.  Even drunk, he could dredge up some great force behind those punches.  They almost always landed in her gut.  This was fine.  The pit that sat in her belly all these months could take it.  Still, no tears.
     But then this knock at the door.  Just as Evan was landing a third punch to the gut.  He liked to grab me by the shoulders.  Center his target, I guess.  But, the knock.  I turned just as he was about to swing.  As he stumbled and fell on the kitchen linoleum floor, I reached the front door.
     As the door opened, the strangers black boot held the screen door ajar.  The stranger before me blocked the evening sun behind him.  I couldn't quite make him out.  Tall.  Yes, had to more than six and a half feet.  Dark pants.  Dark shirt.  Black, I think.  But he was in shadow.  A hoodie over his head.  A goatee of dark, dark hair.  He didn't say a word, but nodded ever so slightly to Evan.  I turned back to see my husband lying, motionless, on the floor where I left him.  The stranger held out his hand.  In it, a human heart.
     "Oh Evan," with a smile, she held his heart in her own hand, "it's for you."
  
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The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by Evangel

of forevers and evers

They haven't been working out. She thinks maybe it's time for other people, and he thinks they just need more time. She spends the night staring up at shadowy ceilings, and he falls into the sweet embrace of dreams about futures where they can afford an ice cream cone without having to work overtime. She's a realist, and he's a romantic.

And maybe that's why they had felt so drawn to each other at the beginning. She was twenty years old and busting her ass in community college, hoping to attract some passing interest from a private college, anything better than the run down cesspit she's trapped in right now. He was eighteen years old and fresh out of high school. She thought he looked too young, he thought she looked too old. But they fell in love anyways.

And maybe they're falling out of love now. 

The once carefree afternoons that had been filled with pillow fights and wild laughter are coiled tightly, both of them too afraid to break the tension. She wants to be anywhere but here. He wants to hold her in his arms and never let go. She's too afraid of what will happen to the starry-eyed, too naive little boy she had almost run over when they first met. He's too afraid of how she'll react if he buries his nose into her hair and pretends like nothing has changed.

She clacks away on the keyboard of her battered computer, bought from four pairs of hands. She's working on her thesis, and stress has reached an all time high. She'll be graduating community college in the next month, and it's a constant question that neither of them dare voice aloud for fear of acknowledging its reality.

They'll have to someday. 

He scratches out vague answers to his seminar questions, knowing that he can do better, knowing that no one will really care. He's two years younger than her, and he's already been offered a scholarship to a university halfway across the country. He still hasn't told her, because he knows that she'll tell him to go, and he wants to believe that she still loves him the way she has since she first appeared, offering to pay for his hospital fees off the skin of her back.

There's a knock on the door, and his head snaps up. Before he can say anything, she has stood up and climbed over the couch that doubles as a bed. Her hand is on the doorknob, and it slowly opens. There's a gasp, and her legs give out from underneath her.

He worries his bottom lip with his teeth as he slowly comes up behind her kneeling form and wraps his arms around her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he offers, a paltry substitution for what he just took from her, but he loves her too much to let her go. He doesn't even care that his friend stands off to the side, watching silently as she shakes with silent sobs in his arms. "I'm so sorry."

She holds the velvet box in her hand, the simple silver band winking up at her. He was only able to afford the one jewelry piece. Her shoulders are shaking, and he rests his cheek against her hair, closing his eyes.

And as much as their love is stagnating, she has to choke, "I will, I will, I will," as the foundations of her world crumble beneath her feet and the only anchor she can touch is the boy who cannot stop this toxic love just as much as she herself cannot. 

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The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by Evangel
of forevers and evers
They haven't been working out. She thinks maybe it's time for other people, and he thinks they just need more time. She spends the night staring up at shadowy ceilings, and he falls into the sweet embrace of dreams about futures where they can afford an ice cream cone without having to work overtime. She's a realist, and he's a romantic.
And maybe that's why they had felt so drawn to each other at the beginning. She was twenty years old and busting her ass in community college, hoping to attract some passing interest from a private college, anything better than the run down cesspit she's trapped in right now. He was eighteen years old and fresh out of high school. She thought he looked too young, he thought she looked too old. But they fell in love anyways.
And maybe they're falling out of love now. 
The once carefree afternoons that had been filled with pillow fights and wild laughter are coiled tightly, both of them too afraid to break the tension. She wants to be anywhere but here. He wants to hold her in his arms and never let go. She's too afraid of what will happen to the starry-eyed, too naive little boy she had almost run over when they first met. He's too afraid of how she'll react if he buries his nose into her hair and pretends like nothing has changed.
She clacks away on the keyboard of her battered computer, bought from four pairs of hands. She's working on her thesis, and stress has reached an all time high. She'll be graduating community college in the next month, and it's a constant question that neither of them dare voice aloud for fear of acknowledging its reality.
They'll have to someday. 
He scratches out vague answers to his seminar questions, knowing that he can do better, knowing that no one will really care. He's two years younger than her, and he's already been offered a scholarship to a university halfway across the country. He still hasn't told her, because he knows that she'll tell him to go, and he wants to believe that she still loves him the way she has since she first appeared, offering to pay for his hospital fees off the skin of her back.
There's a knock on the door, and his head snaps up. Before he can say anything, she has stood up and climbed over the couch that doubles as a bed. Her hand is on the doorknob, and it slowly opens. There's a gasp, and her legs give out from underneath her.
He worries his bottom lip with his teeth as he slowly comes up behind her kneeling form and wraps his arms around her shoulder.
"I'm sorry," he offers, a paltry substitution for what he just took from her, but he loves her too much to let her go. He doesn't even care that his friend stands off to the side, watching silently as she shakes with silent sobs in his arms. "I'm so sorry."
She holds the velvet box in her hand, the simple silver band winking up at her. He was only able to afford the one jewelry piece. Her shoulders are shaking, and he rests his cheek against her hair, closing his eyes.
And as much as their love is stagnating, she has to choke, "I will, I will, I will," as the foundations of her world crumble beneath her feet and the only anchor she can touch is the boy who cannot stop this toxic love just as much as she herself cannot. 
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The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by madbeyond

Clock

The house was quiet. Not-a-creature-was-stirring quiet. Marilyn set down her bag in the foyer and took a moment to get her bearings. He had left the entryway light on for her; the rest of the house was dark but for the faint glow emanating from down the hall. She glanced at the family photographs on the console; black and white, matching frames. Dusted to within an inch of their lives. (It was Tuesday, Mrs. Creighton’s day.) Buttercup-field faces squinted up at her: her and Carrie and Tom. Just before the shutter clicked. Lynnie Carrie Tom. Look at Mommy!

She zipped off her boots and set them against the wall, flexed her feet on the cool marble tile, made her way to the kitchen, felt for the switch. Light. The scent of vanilla and pine. The blue glass snowman waiting on the island atop a frail red script: Lynnypoo, cookies are for you (fuck Santa!); old man asleep upstairs will join you tomorrow, whether or not permitting.

Marilyn peeled back the plastic wrap and took the sugar cookie with the L, bit into it, rewrapped the plate. He must have made them weeks ago, she thought. With old butter. She wrapped the rest in a paper towel and buried it in the trash. Washing her hands in the sink, she looked out the window and saw the tree through the living room mirror, lit up like old magic. Her mother’s tree. Lynnie Carrie Tom. Look at Mommy!

She took a tumbler from the cabinet beside the sink, rummaged in the freezer for ice, retrieved the Glenlivet from the low cupboard. Clinked her way down the hall. Sank into the deep crush of home. Old pillow forts and fights. All the knock-knock codes.

Whispers on the edge. Her mother's tree. Public radio on low, “O Come O Come Emmanuel.” Rules of time upended here. All a lonely exile. On the willows there. Why come back again? Her father alone, siblings gone. 

And then the whoosh of dance. Cuckoo! Cuckoo!

The clock at twelve o’clock.

Door opens. Mother emerges, surprised. Father’s furrowed brow, all worry, all now. All the figures in a ring, in and out of time, cuckoo cuckooing: Lynnie Carrie Tom. Look at Mommy!

Marilyn got up, walked to the clock, waited for the hour to play out. Mother picking up the milk, father following her in.

The door shuts. Silence. Not even a mouse. 

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The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by madbeyond
Clock
The house was quiet. Not-a-creature-was-stirring quiet. Marilyn set down her bag in the foyer and took a moment to get her bearings. He had left the entryway light on for her; the rest of the house was dark but for the faint glow emanating from down the hall. She glanced at the family photographs on the console; black and white, matching frames. Dusted to within an inch of their lives. (It was Tuesday, Mrs. Creighton’s day.) Buttercup-field faces squinted up at her: her and Carrie and Tom. Just before the shutter clicked. Lynnie Carrie Tom. Look at Mommy!
She zipped off her boots and set them against the wall, flexed her feet on the cool marble tile, made her way to the kitchen, felt for the switch. Light. The scent of vanilla and pine. The blue glass snowman waiting on the island atop a frail red script: Lynnypoo, cookies are for you (fuck Santa!); old man asleep upstairs will join you tomorrow, whether or not permitting.
Marilyn peeled back the plastic wrap and took the sugar cookie with the L, bit into it, rewrapped the plate. He must have made them weeks ago, she thought. With old butter. She wrapped the rest in a paper towel and buried it in the trash. Washing her hands in the sink, she looked out the window and saw the tree through the living room mirror, lit up like old magic. Her mother’s tree. Lynnie Carrie Tom. Look at Mommy!
She took a tumbler from the cabinet beside the sink, rummaged in the freezer for ice, retrieved the Glenlivet from the low cupboard. Clinked her way down the hall. Sank into the deep crush of home. Old pillow forts and fights. All the knock-knock codes.
Whispers on the edge. Her mother's tree. Public radio on low, “O Come O Come Emmanuel.” Rules of time upended here. All a lonely exile. On the willows there. Why come back again? Her father alone, siblings gone. 
And then the whoosh of dance. Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
The clock at twelve o’clock.
Door opens. Mother emerges, surprised. Father’s furrowed brow, all worry, all now. All the figures in a ring, in and out of time, cuckoo cuckooing: Lynnie Carrie Tom. Look at Mommy!
Marilyn got up, walked to the clock, waited for the hour to play out. Mother picking up the milk, father following her in.
The door shuts. Silence. Not even a mouse. 



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The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by HumbleMarty

The Wizard's Princess

Solid carved oak exploded off its hinges leaving the couple it shielded hiding behind the hallway's walls. Maniacal laughing escaped its precipice. The woman clutching her boyfriend scrabbled up his lap. The mini-skirt hung off the swinging chandelier. The monster howled to high heavens making the big, brave football player shove his girlfriend off as a peace offering to a very cranky volcano. The young woman glared while in her underwear.

"Knight in shining armor my foot," growled the Princess.

She glanced skyward. The color in drained from her face. The monster's sneering eyes and teeth glowed like burning coals. She straightened up her panties. Her hands clasped to her chest trying to look as proper a daughter a half-naked girl could be. One bra strap drooped off one shoulder.

"Hi Daddy," she called, her silvery voice squeaked.

Daddy's eyes flared with sparkly hellfire.

Her boyfriend panicked in the hall imitating a helium sucking pterosaur, complete with flapping arms, and a range of expressions. Dismay morphed to resignation. Resignation gaped into recognition. Recognition screeched out "Oh crud" to what the Fudge-Under-Cupcake-Kitties in that same order. His girlfriend bowed her head in shame. The "man" she loved having thrown her under a bus.

"What is the meaning of this!" boomed Daddy, "You there, puny peasant, march yourself into my sights!"

Both scared little teens shuffled into the open. Whatever eagerness the boyfriend had shriveled away. There amidst the chaos flung clothes hung at weird angles. The stench wafted a tattletale stinker of their escapades. Daddy fell to one knee. Twenty tons of armored muscle lifted the boy's and girl's bowed head with one claw tip.

"Explain yourselves," Daddy requested a fireball flashed in his free hand.

The boyfriend's bounded through the window. Never had an athlete ever tripped over a bush so gracefully while hopping a fence. Brambles slapped his face. Thornbushes ripped his briefs. The girlfriend called after him. She waved his pants with her other hand.

"Wait!" she shouted, "You dropped your..."

The Princess's eyes slackened to saucer size. A scroll unfurled from the football player's ripped pants. It bounced across the floor. A tattered trail painting miles to its paper surface.

"Phone numbers," trailed off the Princess, "And condoms? Oh... dear."

Daddy tutted. His heartbroken daughter sobbed into his hand.

"Sweetie, I forbid this boyfriend from stepping into this house ever again." he stated.

"Can you teach me how to blast him too," she sniffled, "One laser burn for every heart he's broken."

The big evil warlock smiled. His thumb ruffled the girl's hair. Eyes glistening at the father/daughter bonding over spilled vengeance.

"You're grounded," he concluded. She gasped with horror and he added, "After we rob his village and donate his riches to the poor and downtrodden."

The Princess gave her father a wan smile. Sometimes, it stunk having an evil warrior wizard for a father. Yet sometimes she loved her Daddy. This was one of those times.

"Thank you," she stated, "Just don't roast him too much. I want the kids to see his reaction at school tomorrow."

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The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by HumbleMarty
The Wizard's Princess
Solid carved oak exploded off its hinges leaving the couple it shielded hiding behind the hallway's walls. Maniacal laughing escaped its precipice. The woman clutching her boyfriend scrabbled up his lap. The mini-skirt hung off the swinging chandelier. The monster howled to high heavens making the big, brave football player shove his girlfriend off as a peace offering to a very cranky volcano. The young woman glared while in her underwear.

"Knight in shining armor my foot," growled the Princess.

She glanced skyward. The color in drained from her face. The monster's sneering eyes and teeth glowed like burning coals. She straightened up her panties. Her hands clasped to her chest trying to look as proper a daughter a half-naked girl could be. One bra strap drooped off one shoulder.

"Hi Daddy," she called, her silvery voice squeaked.
Daddy's eyes flared with sparkly hellfire.

Her boyfriend panicked in the hall imitating a helium sucking pterosaur, complete with flapping arms, and a range of expressions. Dismay morphed to resignation. Resignation gaped into recognition. Recognition screeched out "Oh crud" to what the Fudge-Under-Cupcake-Kitties in that same order. His girlfriend bowed her head in shame. The "man" she loved having thrown her under a bus.

"What is the meaning of this!" boomed Daddy, "You there, puny peasant, march yourself into my sights!"

Both scared little teens shuffled into the open. Whatever eagerness the boyfriend had shriveled away. There amidst the chaos flung clothes hung at weird angles. The stench wafted a tattletale stinker of their escapades. Daddy fell to one knee. Twenty tons of armored muscle lifted the boy's and girl's bowed head with one claw tip.

"Explain yourselves," Daddy requested a fireball flashed in his free hand.

The boyfriend's bounded through the window. Never had an athlete ever tripped over a bush so gracefully while hopping a fence. Brambles slapped his face. Thornbushes ripped his briefs. The girlfriend called after him. She waved his pants with her other hand.

"Wait!" she shouted, "You dropped your..."

The Princess's eyes slackened to saucer size. A scroll unfurled from the football player's ripped pants. It bounced across the floor. A tattered trail painting miles to its paper surface.

"Phone numbers," trailed off the Princess, "And condoms? Oh... dear."

Daddy tutted. His heartbroken daughter sobbed into his hand.

"Sweetie, I forbid this boyfriend from stepping into this house ever again." he stated.

"Can you teach me how to blast him too," she sniffled, "One laser burn for every heart he's broken."

The big evil warlock smiled. His thumb ruffled the girl's hair. Eyes glistening at the father/daughter bonding over spilled vengeance.

"You're grounded," he concluded. She gasped with horror and he added, "After we rob his village and donate his riches to the poor and downtrodden."

The Princess gave her father a wan smile. Sometimes, it stunk having an evil warrior wizard for a father. Yet sometimes she loved her Daddy. This was one of those times.
"Thank you," she stated, "Just don't roast him too much. I want the kids to see his reaction at school tomorrow."
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The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by WarriorKate

Astonishing Disaster

"Should I call 911? What was that loud noise! Answer me, John!"

John grabbed Tori by the hand, led her out of the kitchen through the house, and into the foyer. She stood barefoot on the cold, wet tile, covered in dirt, and blood. She looked down at her feet, they were blotchy red with bits of earth between her toes. John slowly lifted his hand, pointing to the door.

The door suddenly flung open, and police officers rushed past them. They stared out the door into their yard. Red lights flashing into the dark summer sky, the street had been barricaded off and yellow caution tape lined the perimeter of their property.

"What in the hell is going on?!!!", she yelled at the cops, but they didn't respond.

John grabbed her by the hand once again, and they quickly walked onto the porch, down the patio steps and into the yard. Face down in the freshly manicured grass were two bodies. One male, and one female.

Tori gasped with surprise as she took a few steps closer to the bodies. "Someone died here?" She recognized the shirt pattern on one of the bodies, and ran to investigate, John following quickly behind her.

"Wait, how is this possible?"

Tori touched the arm of the victim lying in the grass and looked down at her arm, confirming that it was exactly the same as the shirt she was wearing. She flipped the body over, turned to her husband and said with astonishment, "It's me, I'm the body".

John's demeanor was full of agony and distress. Tori stood up, took her hands, and placed them on his pale checks as he shivered. She noticed she was shivering too. He placed his hands on top of hers, and once again, led her quickly over to where the other body lay.

"Oh my God. John, it's you!"

Carefully circling the body, she noticed a piece of black metal sticking out from under his right side, wedged between his body and the lawn. She slowly reached down to grab the object, looking around to see if anyone noticed her. She gently pulled the object out from under him--it was a pistol.

She held the pistol in her hands, and head became dizzy and faint -- she knew. The events of the night came rushing back to her, it all made sense now. There had been a horrible fight while they were driving. He thought she was cheating, he'd gone through her phone records and confronted her. She was cheating, but she was going to cut it off. She didn't love the other man, she loved John. She told him repeatedly it was a mistake, she'd never do it again. He was angry, and irate--she couldn't control him or calm him. He was getting violent and she told him to take her home. He punched her in the ribs, arms, legs, calling her a slut, and a dirty whore. He drove erratically to their home. She was frightened. Sobbing, she escaped the car, headed for the door, but she never made it. She heard a loud bang and the next thing she knew they were standing in the kitchen.

"You killed me. That was the loud bang. Then you killed yourself...Get away from me".

Tori looked up to see John was not there. She walked back into the house alone, and looked through the open door, watching as they took her body. An angel with golden wings came through the door, lifted her up and gently spoke, "You're safe now, I'm taking you home".

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The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by WarriorKate
Astonishing Disaster
"Should I call 911? What was that loud noise! Answer me, John!"

John grabbed Tori by the hand, led her out of the kitchen through the house, and into the foyer. She stood barefoot on the cold, wet tile, covered in dirt, and blood. She looked down at her feet, they were blotchy red with bits of earth between her toes. John slowly lifted his hand, pointing to the door.

The door suddenly flung open, and police officers rushed past them. They stared out the door into their yard. Red lights flashing into the dark summer sky, the street had been barricaded off and yellow caution tape lined the perimeter of their property.

"What in the hell is going on?!!!", she yelled at the cops, but they didn't respond.

John grabbed her by the hand once again, and they quickly walked onto the porch, down the patio steps and into the yard. Face down in the freshly manicured grass were two bodies. One male, and one female.

Tori gasped with surprise as she took a few steps closer to the bodies. "Someone died here?" She recognized the shirt pattern on one of the bodies, and ran to investigate, John following quickly behind her.

"Wait, how is this possible?"

Tori touched the arm of the victim lying in the grass and looked down at her arm, confirming that it was exactly the same as the shirt she was wearing. She flipped the body over, turned to her husband and said with astonishment, "It's me, I'm the body".

John's demeanor was full of agony and distress. Tori stood up, took her hands, and placed them on his pale checks as he shivered. She noticed she was shivering too. He placed his hands on top of hers, and once again, led her quickly over to where the other body lay.

"Oh my God. John, it's you!"

Carefully circling the body, she noticed a piece of black metal sticking out from under his right side, wedged between his body and the lawn. She slowly reached down to grab the object, looking around to see if anyone noticed her. She gently pulled the object out from under him--it was a pistol.

She held the pistol in her hands, and head became dizzy and faint -- she knew. The events of the night came rushing back to her, it all made sense now. There had been a horrible fight while they were driving. He thought she was cheating, he'd gone through her phone records and confronted her. She was cheating, but she was going to cut it off. She didn't love the other man, she loved John. She told him repeatedly it was a mistake, she'd never do it again. He was angry, and irate--she couldn't control him or calm him. He was getting violent and she told him to take her home. He punched her in the ribs, arms, legs, calling her a slut, and a dirty whore. He drove erratically to their home. She was frightened. Sobbing, she escaped the car, headed for the door, but she never made it. She heard a loud bang and the next thing she knew they were standing in the kitchen.

"You killed me. That was the loud bang. Then you killed yourself...Get away from me".

Tori looked up to see John was not there. She walked back into the house alone, and looked through the open door, watching as they took her body. An angel with golden wings came through the door, lifted her up and gently spoke, "You're safe now, I'm taking you home".
#fiction  #mystery  #spirituality  #murder  #suicide  #crime  #domesticviolence  #infidelity 
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The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by JRose

Twisted

They were children back then. She was only five and he only six years old.

She finds him hurt, with a knife in his hand and he is shaking. There is blood running down his leg; that is being washed away by the cold rain that drizzles around them. He is barefoot and she offers her shoes to him and he smiles.

Her family takes him in after that. She learns that he was tortured as a child by his uncle. At night when he has nightmares she comforts him. Laying in bed beside him and singing the lullabies her own mother taught her.

They go to school together, and while she enjoys playing with the other children he sits on a bench and simply gazes at her. There is no smile, no emotion in his eyes except when she looks at him. His face soon lights up and she can only smile back.

They found a dog once. A small scruffy little thing. She'd taken care of it, cared for him and then. He promised her he'd help her find him a home. One night he was gone. That cute little golden retriever ran away. She could never understand and at night when she'd cry herself to sleep he would comfort her.

When they're fifteen, girls begin to disappear. First, her best friend Rachel goes missing. Her parents have a search party for two weeks and then; they find her. Dead by a creek, her feet have been cut off. Rachel's older brother Max cries in her arms without consolation vowing to find whoever did this. But the trail remains cold.

A few days later another girl goes missing. She begins to suspect only after the third girl.

She had seen him talking to her after school and when she asks he gets angry. She begins to observe him and the day before they find another girl at the creek she sees him sneak out of their home. He comes back in the middle of the night trailing mud behind him and watches as he cleans the floor before going to bed.

There's a sinking feeling at the pit of her stomach; because she now is more than sure that he is the murdered. She pretends to be sick that morning and when their parents leave and he goes to school she writes a quick note and places it under her bed. She doesn't tell Max about her suspicion; afraid of what he'll do, but when he finds her ransacking through her own brother's things that day he helps her search only to come out empty.

They place everything back in place and Max stays over at night. Another girl has gone missing and it's only a matter of time. They wait for him to leave. Watching him cross the threshold.

"Are you ready?" Max asks with a wary look. 

"Yes."

They follow him to an old cabin just outside of town. She recognizes this place. His uncle's home. The door is open. When they enter there are hundreds of child shoes on the floor. All similar to the pink little flats she'd given him to wear.

"He wants me." She whispers in realization. When they walk further in they see him. The girl is tied up. He has a knife in hand and pink children shoes beside him.

He's not yet heard them come in; Max has grabbed an old bat just outside the house. The girl screams for help and before he can turn he is struck in the head and falls unconscious.

"Why?" She asks him.

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The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by JRose
Twisted
They were children back then. She was only five and he only six years old.
She finds him hurt, with a knife in his hand and he is shaking. There is blood running down his leg; that is being washed away by the cold rain that drizzles around them. He is barefoot and she offers her shoes to him and he smiles.

Her family takes him in after that. She learns that he was tortured as a child by his uncle. At night when he has nightmares she comforts him. Laying in bed beside him and singing the lullabies her own mother taught her.

They go to school together, and while she enjoys playing with the other children he sits on a bench and simply gazes at her. There is no smile, no emotion in his eyes except when she looks at him. His face soon lights up and she can only smile back.

They found a dog once. A small scruffy little thing. She'd taken care of it, cared for him and then. He promised her he'd help her find him a home. One night he was gone. That cute little golden retriever ran away. She could never understand and at night when she'd cry herself to sleep he would comfort her.

When they're fifteen, girls begin to disappear. First, her best friend Rachel goes missing. Her parents have a search party for two weeks and then; they find her. Dead by a creek, her feet have been cut off. Rachel's older brother Max cries in her arms without consolation vowing to find whoever did this. But the trail remains cold.

A few days later another girl goes missing. She begins to suspect only after the third girl.
She had seen him talking to her after school and when she asks he gets angry. She begins to observe him and the day before they find another girl at the creek she sees him sneak out of their home. He comes back in the middle of the night trailing mud behind him and watches as he cleans the floor before going to bed.

There's a sinking feeling at the pit of her stomach; because she now is more than sure that he is the murdered. She pretends to be sick that morning and when their parents leave and he goes to school she writes a quick note and places it under her bed. She doesn't tell Max about her suspicion; afraid of what he'll do, but when he finds her ransacking through her own brother's things that day he helps her search only to come out empty.

They place everything back in place and Max stays over at night. Another girl has gone missing and it's only a matter of time. They wait for him to leave. Watching him cross the threshold.
"Are you ready?" Max asks with a wary look. 
"Yes."

They follow him to an old cabin just outside of town. She recognizes this place. His uncle's home. The door is open. When they enter there are hundreds of child shoes on the floor. All similar to the pink little flats she'd given him to wear.
"He wants me." She whispers in realization. When they walk further in they see him. The girl is tied up. He has a knife in hand and pink children shoes beside him.

He's not yet heard them come in; Max has grabbed an old bat just outside the house. The girl screams for help and before he can turn he is struck in the head and falls unconscious.
"Why?" She asks him.
#fiction  #horror  #mystery 
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The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by crummybuttons

Of All I See.

The Man in Grey always says: "There is a place of time for bodies, soul, and mind."  I don't know what it means, nor does my friend.  The Man in Grey gets angry when we don't understand.  He pokes us with needles when we talk nonsense, and I wake a day later, unsure if it was a dream or not.  Everything is like that.  I can't tell reality from dreaming.  My friend says this is something called, Psychosis.  He says Ghost told him this.

I Saw what will happen tonight, a blurry vision of tableaus, this pre-seeing that happens all the time; but never as graphic, never as horrifying as this one: nine o'clock tonight; a fire; a hidden door; four gun fires; red everywhere.

"What if we die?" my friend asks, eyes wide.

I look at the clock.  Eight-fifty-nine.  "We'll find out soon."

There's a brief moment of silence, comforting and haunting.  I close my eyes, breathe, grasp the edge of normality for a split second.  And then--

There's a scream, loud and piercing, vibrating horribly in my eardrums.  There's a blast of heat, giant flames igniting the room.  The Grey Ones run chaotically; the ones like me and my friend sit soundly, admiring the colorful flecks of orange, red, and burning yellow dance and stretch.  It engulfs a boy, eating him alive, disintegrating his flesh, leaving nothing but char and crimson.  At this, panic rises.  My friend takes my hand, leading us away as the Other Ones enter the fire as if they don't realize they'll die, as if they don't care if they die.  

We head down a long passage of blinding white.  I feel a pang in my chest, a horrible ache.  "Run," I whisper.  We do as The Man in Grey and three Grey Ones appear, chasing us.

We sprint to the end, but there are no doors, no windows.  We're trapped.  Then--flash--I See it.  "There," I say, pushing the wall, and, like I Saw, it opens.  We look out.  I'm struck with surprise, with awful realization.  My friend, however, looks sick, worried to death.  

"DON'T!"  The Man in Grey gains closer...

We look beyond, trying to find more.  Then--flash--I know.  I See it, rushing before me in color, with faces and details. 

I slowly pick up the object and as soon as I touch it everything makes sense, everything falls formidably into place.  I turn, point the gun at The Man in Grey, and pull the trigger.  Bang.  He falls, eyes shell-shocked.  I aim at the Grey Ones.  Bang.  Bang.  Bang. They fall, the white-washed hall now turning scarlet.

I stare absently, hoping this is just a dream...

The gun falls from my hand, the fire spreads.  I look at my friend and, finally, I feel okay, and I suppose this isn't the way I pictured dying; but I'd rather die by fire next to my friend than by needles alone in my room.

The fire burns closer....We await, holding hands, shutting eyelids, and I feel the heat upon us....

It's a lifetime before I peek, only to see no fire, no blood, no gun.  Just blinding white and my friend.  And, very vaguely, a pearly shadow moving towards us...

"This way," Ghost says, chilling and welcoming, entering the hidden door.  "Come. There's much to do now."

Perhaps it is the narcotics or the freedom or both, but I grab my friend's hand and we enter, not knowing what lies behind, not knowing if this is just a dream or if this is real. But, in the end, does it really matter? 

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The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by crummybuttons
Of All I See.
The Man in Grey always says: "There is a place of time for bodies, soul, and mind."  I don't know what it means, nor does my friend.  The Man in Grey gets angry when we don't understand.  He pokes us with needles when we talk nonsense, and I wake a day later, unsure if it was a dream or not.  Everything is like that.  I can't tell reality from dreaming.  My friend says this is something called, Psychosis.  He says Ghost told him this.
I Saw what will happen tonight, a blurry vision of tableaus, this pre-seeing that happens all the time; but never as graphic, never as horrifying as this one: nine o'clock tonight; a fire; a hidden door; four gun fires; red everywhere.
"What if we die?" my friend asks, eyes wide.
I look at the clock.  Eight-fifty-nine.  "We'll find out soon."
There's a brief moment of silence, comforting and haunting.  I close my eyes, breathe, grasp the edge of normality for a split second.  And then--
There's a scream, loud and piercing, vibrating horribly in my eardrums.  There's a blast of heat, giant flames igniting the room.  The Grey Ones run chaotically; the ones like me and my friend sit soundly, admiring the colorful flecks of orange, red, and burning yellow dance and stretch.  It engulfs a boy, eating him alive, disintegrating his flesh, leaving nothing but char and crimson.  At this, panic rises.  My friend takes my hand, leading us away as the Other Ones enter the fire as if they don't realize they'll die, as if they don't care if they die.  
We head down a long passage of blinding white.  I feel a pang in my chest, a horrible ache.  "Run," I whisper.  We do as The Man in Grey and three Grey Ones appear, chasing us.
We sprint to the end, but there are no doors, no windows.  We're trapped.  Then--flash--I See it.  "There," I say, pushing the wall, and, like I Saw, it opens.  We look out.  I'm struck with surprise, with awful realization.  My friend, however, looks sick, worried to death.  
"DON'T!"  The Man in Grey gains closer...
We look beyond, trying to find more.  Then--flash--I know.  I See it, rushing before me in color, with faces and details. 
I slowly pick up the object and as soon as I touch it everything makes sense, everything falls formidably into place.  I turn, point the gun at The Man in Grey, and pull the trigger.  Bang.  He falls, eyes shell-shocked.  I aim at the Grey Ones.  Bang.  Bang.  Bang. They fall, the white-washed hall now turning scarlet.
I stare absently, hoping this is just a dream...
The gun falls from my hand, the fire spreads.  I look at my friend and, finally, I feel okay, and I suppose this isn't the way I pictured dying; but I'd rather die by fire next to my friend than by needles alone in my room.
The fire burns closer....We await, holding hands, shutting eyelids, and I feel the heat upon us....



It's a lifetime before I peek, only to see no fire, no blood, no gun.  Just blinding white and my friend.  And, very vaguely, a pearly shadow moving towards us...
"This way," Ghost says, chilling and welcoming, entering the hidden door.  "Come. There's much to do now."
Perhaps it is the narcotics or the freedom or both, but I grab my friend's hand and we enter, not knowing what lies behind, not knowing if this is just a dream or if this is real. But, in the end, does it really matter? 
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The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by hamsastark

My Dearest Carol

Carol and I met on a Sunday afternoon in July. I was captivated instantly. She had velvety walnut brown hair with matching eyes and a white floral dress, bending down to feed the pigeons the crust of her turkey sandwich. I approached her as the bird with the broken wing stumbled over the last piece of bread. Her voice sparkled like the hair on her head. I felt as if I was dreaming when she spoke. I had to have her.

"The surgery was successful sir."

"Thank you Tremblay," I replied, as he drifted back to his cage. I felt grateful for that doctor when I walked into the operating room. Taking him was brilliant

Carol was sprawled on the table, still unconscious, with a white bandage wrapped around her fragile skull. I didn't dare think of what must have been a gruesome scene when that beautiful head of hers was so barbarically carved open. An ugly picture, but a necessary one. That computer chip wired her brain now, and she'd love me forever.

The day I bought the engagement ring, I had a business meeting with a frail old woman named Erica Pritchett. She paled in comparison to Carol. Her jaded eyes sunk into her face past the Titanic and her skin could sand the paint off an airplane. 

"Who's she?" Carol asked, with desperation pervading her voice.

I turned around and there Carol stood in the doorway. Carol stormed towards my business partner and snapped her neck without expending a drop of energy. 

"Do you love me? I love you Thomas. We'll be together forever Thomas." 

"Of course darling. I'll always love you," I said, as I pushed her ring deeper into my pocket. Tears streamed down her cheeks while blood pooled in the corner of Erica's mouth.

"Then how could you spend time with this"–Carol looked down and shook the old woman's lifeless body–"whore!" 

"I care for you Thomas. I'm a good girlfriend. I do everything you ask. I cook. I clean. I'm faithful. I'm a good girlfriend Thomas. I'm love you."

I woke up with an ear-splitting headache on the floor of Tremblay's cage, with a crooked gash running across the side of my face. 

"How's your fiancée?" Thomas asked sarcastically. "Is that chip in her head working?"

Fiancée? Damn Tremblay! He knew! He gave her a faulty chip! Carol's assault was his fault. I can't let Carol marry me now! I reached in my suit pocket for the ring I bought earlier. It was gone! I couldn't let her find it!

Carol walked into the basement and unlocked my new home. "Thomas, take me for a walk. I need some air."

"Yes darling," I replied, stumbling out of the cage, nearly collapsing onto the concrete floor.

"Take me to where we first met. I want to go there," Carol said, as she dragged me to the foyer. She opened the door and I saw the trail of bloodied, flattened grass that she dragged me through on the way into the house.

"What's that?" 

I looked as she dropped me. As I fell, I noticed a small black box on the bloody lawn.

"Carol!" I yelled nervously, "Don't worry about that silly thing. I bet it's nothing."

Carol ignored me as she walked out to the little black box. I scrambled to catch up and bat it away but she was too fast. I was too weak. Tears of joy ran down her face when she opened the box. Tears ran down mine as well, but for a very different reason.

"Yes Thomas! I'll marry you!"

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The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by hamsastark
My Dearest Carol
Carol and I met on a Sunday afternoon in July. I was captivated instantly. She had velvety walnut brown hair with matching eyes and a white floral dress, bending down to feed the pigeons the crust of her turkey sandwich. I approached her as the bird with the broken wing stumbled over the last piece of bread. Her voice sparkled like the hair on her head. I felt as if I was dreaming when she spoke. I had to have her.

"The surgery was successful sir."

"Thank you Tremblay," I replied, as he drifted back to his cage. I felt grateful for that doctor when I walked into the operating room. Taking him was brilliant

Carol was sprawled on the table, still unconscious, with a white bandage wrapped around her fragile skull. I didn't dare think of what must have been a gruesome scene when that beautiful head of hers was so barbarically carved open. An ugly picture, but a necessary one. That computer chip wired her brain now, and she'd love me forever.

The day I bought the engagement ring, I had a business meeting with a frail old woman named Erica Pritchett. She paled in comparison to Carol. Her jaded eyes sunk into her face past the Titanic and her skin could sand the paint off an airplane. 

"Who's she?" Carol asked, with desperation pervading her voice.

I turned around and there Carol stood in the doorway. Carol stormed towards my business partner and snapped her neck without expending a drop of energy. 

"Do you love me? I love you Thomas. We'll be together forever Thomas." 

"Of course darling. I'll always love you," I said, as I pushed her ring deeper into my pocket. Tears streamed down her cheeks while blood pooled in the corner of Erica's mouth.

"Then how could you spend time with this"–Carol looked down and shook the old woman's lifeless body–"whore!" 

"I care for you Thomas. I'm a good girlfriend. I do everything you ask. I cook. I clean. I'm faithful. I'm a good girlfriend Thomas. I'm love you."

I woke up with an ear-splitting headache on the floor of Tremblay's cage, with a crooked gash running across the side of my face. 

"How's your fiancée?" Thomas asked sarcastically. "Is that chip in her head working?"

Fiancée? Damn Tremblay! He knew! He gave her a faulty chip! Carol's assault was his fault. I can't let Carol marry me now! I reached in my suit pocket for the ring I bought earlier. It was gone! I couldn't let her find it!

Carol walked into the basement and unlocked my new home. "Thomas, take me for a walk. I need some air."

"Yes darling," I replied, stumbling out of the cage, nearly collapsing onto the concrete floor.

"Take me to where we first met. I want to go there," Carol said, as she dragged me to the foyer. She opened the door and I saw the trail of bloodied, flattened grass that she dragged me through on the way into the house.

"What's that?" 

I looked as she dropped me. As I fell, I noticed a small black box on the bloody lawn.

"Carol!" I yelled nervously, "Don't worry about that silly thing. I bet it's nothing."

Carol ignored me as she walked out to the little black box. I scrambled to catch up and bat it away but she was too fast. I was too weak. Tears of joy ran down her face when she opened the box. Tears ran down mine as well, but for a very different reason.

"Yes Thomas! I'll marry you!"





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The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by fantastical

The Doorway

“You ready, Alex?” Evelyn asked, as much to get his attention as she was anxious to finally see the result of years of work and research finally prove their theories.

Alex snapped out of his deep-thought trance and smiled back at her. “As ready as I’ll ever be, Love.”

Evelyn pushed the button and the engineered door hummed to life and opened. Opened to to another place, not of Earth. She looked in wonder while Alex looked in concern, because the air didn’t change or vacuum away like he predicted.

Evelyn removed her helmet, took a breath, and gave Alex a look to to prove that everything was ok. He still looked concerned. Evelyn slipped out of her suit, giving up its safety and walked toward the doorway, knowing Alex would follow, if for no other reason than his cavalier romanticism.

Peering through the doorway revealed a near blackness beyond, with only a dull white object about yards ahead. She took a step forward.

“Ev’yn, don’t you think…”

“Alex, we been working endlessly toward this. You have to want to see!”

“But…”

“No, I am going, this is as big as the first steps on the moon. Bigger. We will be the first.”

When they reached the white object, they found it was a cylinder platform, etched in glyphs of nothing familiar or ancient. Atop of it was a darkened spheroid looking of smoked glass.

Evelyn lifted the object up and studied it. “It almost looks like an apple. Alex take a picture.”

Evelyn smiled and brought it to her lips with a smile. The place shifted as if a wind came from nowhere and everywhere. The door slammed shut, causing Alex to turn his head to see that they were suddenly cut off. Evelyn gave out a familiar, ecstatic scream, causing Alex to turn back toward her. The ecstasy was deeper than any he ever brought her.

“ALEX! I Understand now…”

“What? Are you ok?”

“Everything!”

Alex watched as Evelyn started to glow, almost blindingly bright. In her bright form, the spheroid absorbed her until it became a perfect, bright sphere. In turn, the sphere was pulled into the cylinder replacing its dull whiteness to the same brilliant glow.

Alex ran toward it, seeing the surface revealed a hole that was deepening from the sphere. In desperation he reached in, trying to grab the sphere back. At touching it, he could almost feel her still. The sphere was impossibly heavy, he could not lift it out.

“YES! Alex. Come with me...Forward, not back. Come with me forward…”

Alex succumbed to her words. Alex pushed his hand against the sphere. The sphere grabbed hold and pulled him toward it, pulling him into the platform.

Everything was suddenly blindingly white. Everything was perfectly black. Alex thought he was blind. Until he saw the sphere. Saw it shrink to almost nothing as it ripped away his humanity, until all that was left of him was his flawed soul. He touched it, he understood then the ‘Everthing!’ Evelyn referred to. The sphere shattered in a bang, filling the void they now existed in with the energy Evelyn became. They started a new universe, together. They now understood how beginnings began. She now scattered giving raw energy its first types of form. He was to set the forms into motion, over eons, until he could slowly weaver her together again and they could share in the new universe they birthed.

“Let there be light!” Alex said, and laughed. He could almost hear Evelyn’s laugh echo his, within the newly forming cosmos.

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The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by fantastical
The Doorway
“You ready, Alex?” Evelyn asked, as much to get his attention as she was anxious to finally see the result of years of work and research finally prove their theories.

Alex snapped out of his deep-thought trance and smiled back at her. “As ready as I’ll ever be, Love.”

Evelyn pushed the button and the engineered door hummed to life and opened. Opened to to another place, not of Earth. She looked in wonder while Alex looked in concern, because the air didn’t change or vacuum away like he predicted.

Evelyn removed her helmet, took a breath, and gave Alex a look to to prove that everything was ok. He still looked concerned. Evelyn slipped out of her suit, giving up its safety and walked toward the doorway, knowing Alex would follow, if for no other reason than his cavalier romanticism.

Peering through the doorway revealed a near blackness beyond, with only a dull white object about yards ahead. She took a step forward.

“Ev’yn, don’t you think…”

“Alex, we been working endlessly toward this. You have to want to see!”

“But…”

“No, I am going, this is as big as the first steps on the moon. Bigger. We will be the first.”

When they reached the white object, they found it was a cylinder platform, etched in glyphs of nothing familiar or ancient. Atop of it was a darkened spheroid looking of smoked glass.

Evelyn lifted the object up and studied it. “It almost looks like an apple. Alex take a picture.”

Evelyn smiled and brought it to her lips with a smile. The place shifted as if a wind came from nowhere and everywhere. The door slammed shut, causing Alex to turn his head to see that they were suddenly cut off. Evelyn gave out a familiar, ecstatic scream, causing Alex to turn back toward her. The ecstasy was deeper than any he ever brought her.

“ALEX! I Understand now…”

“What? Are you ok?”

“Everything!”

Alex watched as Evelyn started to glow, almost blindingly bright. In her bright form, the spheroid absorbed her until it became a perfect, bright sphere. In turn, the sphere was pulled into the cylinder replacing its dull whiteness to the same brilliant glow.

Alex ran toward it, seeing the surface revealed a hole that was deepening from the sphere. In desperation he reached in, trying to grab the sphere back. At touching it, he could almost feel her still. The sphere was impossibly heavy, he could not lift it out.

“YES! Alex. Come with me...Forward, not back. Come with me forward…”

Alex succumbed to her words. Alex pushed his hand against the sphere. The sphere grabbed hold and pulled him toward it, pulling him into the platform.

Everything was suddenly blindingly white. Everything was perfectly black. Alex thought he was blind. Until he saw the sphere. Saw it shrink to almost nothing as it ripped away his humanity, until all that was left of him was his flawed soul. He touched it, he understood then the ‘Everthing!’ Evelyn referred to. The sphere shattered in a bang, filling the void they now existed in with the energy Evelyn became. They started a new universe, together. They now understood how beginnings began. She now scattered giving raw energy its first types of form. He was to set the forms into motion, over eons, until he could slowly weaver her together again and they could share in the new universe they birthed.

“Let there be light!” Alex said, and laughed. He could almost hear Evelyn’s laugh echo his, within the newly forming cosmos.
#scifi  #fiction  #romance  #flashfiction 
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The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by Acadec56

There will be war

And then there was light. We raced through a space projection, watching hundreds of different stars that were all bigger than the sun, moons that emitted a crimson glow, and many other astonishing Earth-like planets. Then, we came to a quick halt at a gigantic, complete blue, oval planet with only a small spec of green. And it all made sense. With shock and terror on both of our faces, we rushed back to the spaceship to inform Earth of this horrific situation. We strapped in, started up the Patriot, and in a few minutes, we were off. "Scarlett, let me see that orb." Said Justin. Hands shaking, I gave the orb to Justin. He stared at the cloud white orb until finally he said, "this changes everything". And he was right, everyone's lives were about to change. We both had suspected that the aliens were hiding something from us, something diabolical. That's why the government sent us, and thank God they did. After 20 years of cooperating and living with them, they were planning on stabbing us in the back. But why now? Why wait 20 years to move forward with this plan to remove Earth's Crust and implant them into their planet? Hopefully, we get answers to these questions, but there's one inevitable truth, there will be war. Finally, we landed onto our space station where general Jackson was waiting for us. "What have you found??" He said. Justin looked at me then back to general Jackson, "this Sir". And with one touch, there was light once again. After it was over, everyone in the room looked shocked, scared, and very sad. Angrily, the general shouted, "THIS MEANS WAAARR!!".

     A few months later, families were torn apart, lives were ruined, and war had began. The absolute terror and sickening landscape that war had provided, decimated both Justin and I. We tried to make things right, we tried to help as many aliens as possible, but we couldn't and Justin paid the ultimate price in order to protect me. This is all my fault. Even though Earth utilized guerilla techniques against the aliens, there's no way that we are going to win this battle. They have too many soldiers, allies and weapons. We are going to loose. We are going to die. And you whomever finds​ and reads this, please remember what my husband told me....What is loved will never fade away.

15
6
41
Juice
150 reads
Donate coins to Acadec56.
Juice
Cancel
The writer of the best short story from this challenge wins a ProWritingAid Lifetime License, worth $140. Take the terribly-written adverb-laden outline of a story below and use your own voice to make it amazing. Maybe it's sci-fi, maybe it's romance, maybe it's thriller...it's up to you: The door was opened and they looked out. She was very surprised. He looked very worried. They went quickly to find out more. She slowly picked up the object and it all finally made sense.
Written by Acadec56
There will be war
And then there was light. We raced through a space projection, watching hundreds of different stars that were all bigger than the sun, moons that emitted a crimson glow, and many other astonishing Earth-like planets. Then, we came to a quick halt at a gigantic, complete blue, oval planet with only a small spec of green. And it all made sense. With shock and terror on both of our faces, we rushed back to the spaceship to inform Earth of this horrific situation. We strapped in, started up the Patriot, and in a few minutes, we were off. "Scarlett, let me see that orb." Said Justin. Hands shaking, I gave the orb to Justin. He stared at the cloud white orb until finally he said, "this changes everything". And he was right, everyone's lives were about to change. We both had suspected that the aliens were hiding something from us, something diabolical. That's why the government sent us, and thank God they did. After 20 years of cooperating and living with them, they were planning on stabbing us in the back. But why now? Why wait 20 years to move forward with this plan to remove Earth's Crust and implant them into their planet? Hopefully, we get answers to these questions, but there's one inevitable truth, there will be war. Finally, we landed onto our space station where general Jackson was waiting for us. "What have you found??" He said. Justin looked at me then back to general Jackson, "this Sir". And with one touch, there was light once again. After it was over, everyone in the room looked shocked, scared, and very sad. Angrily, the general shouted, "THIS MEANS WAAARR!!".

     A few months later, families were torn apart, lives were ruined, and war had began. The absolute terror and sickening landscape that war had provided, decimated both Justin and I. We tried to make things right, we tried to help as many aliens as possible, but we couldn't and Justin paid the ultimate price in order to protect me. This is all my fault. Even though Earth utilized guerilla techniques against the aliens, there's no way that we are going to win this battle. They have too many soldiers, allies and weapons. We are going to loose. We are going to die. And you whomever finds​ and reads this, please remember what my husband told me....What is loved will never fade away.
15
6
41
Juice
150 reads
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