2016 Micro Fiction Contest: Third Place Winner

Tags

Indie Author, Micro Fiction, Self Published Book, Writing Contest

Namaste

By Cheri Gillard

The students are laughing because he expressed his fear to their teacher. But the broadcasts everywhere warn disaster is coming. Even his new girlfriend laughs at him.
Racing through New Market, tearing past the merchants who curse him as usual, Bhavin runs home. He rushes inside, upending a metal pot.

“Slow down,” his grandmother says.

“The pandemic is coming,” Bhavin spits out. “It will reach us within days!”

The pandemic is raging from the U.S., sweeping across Europe. The Super Bug. The Death Bug, they’re calling it. Resistant to every antibiotic, worse than the Black Death in the 1300s, the newsmen say. But this is 2016! This shouldn’t be happening.

His grandmother looks grave.

“We’ll leave the city, Nani. I’ll get you out of Kolkata and we’ll go where there are no crowds.”

Finally she speaks. “I’ve been waiting for this day. It was prophesized to me long ago. You will leave. You will escape.”

She reaches up to her shelf for her box he is never to touch. The key around her neck
unlocks it. From inside, she pulls a gleaming jewel set in gold. Astonished, Bhavin can’t believe they live in such poverty with that in the house.

“This will take you.”

“We’ll sell it for train fare. We’ll escape.”

She shakes her head. “Only you. It was foretold.” She hugs him longer, tighter than ever before. “Go forth and be fruitful.”

Her words confuse him.

Taking his hand, she places the pendant in his palm, and cups his other hand over it. He
would take it to market—

A bird chirps not far away. No other sound.

He stands in a wide, empty street.

He’s never heard such silence.

No one is anywhere. The doorways are empty, the streets desolate. Slipping the jewel into his pocket, he steps forward, moving slower than ever before.

He wanders to New Market, one sheep and two pecking chickens the only other movement. A bent bicycle lies in the road, broken and twisted. Deserted stalls exhibit scattered pots. A rusted taxi with shattered windows and no doors slumbers on its rims. Never has it been so still, so silent. He hears the wind for the first time.

Fast footsteps break the quiet and spins him around. A girl his age charges at him. He braces for her attack.

She jumps at him, embracing him. She sobs, clinging to him in desperation.

“What took you so long?” she cries. “My nani promised you’d come!”

Bhavin takes her arms and pulls her away to look at her.

“What happened? Tell me what you know.”

She holds up a jewel like his. “We’ve been sent from the Pandemic. We alone have
escaped.”

“Where is everyone?”

Tilting her head, she is quiet. “Your nani didn’t tell you?”

He shakes his head, fear threatening his composure.

She steps back, touching her palms together and breathing deeply, composed now.
“Namaste. My name is Navya. This is 2060. We are all that’s left.”

Copyright 2016 Cheri Gillard

Thank you so much to author Cheri Gillard for submitting her story to the 2016 Micro Fiction Writing Contest!

About the Author

Cheri Gillard has been a freelance writer and editor for nearly twenty-five years. In addition to a slew of freelance non-fiction books and projects with major publishers, plus the three volumes of the Nephilim Redemption Series, her stand-alone medical thriller, The Clone’s Mother, has debuted to numerous five-star reviews. She lives and writes in Colorado. For more about her award winning fiction, and to follow her daily blog about raising quadruplets, visit cherigillard.com.

 

 

 

Check out her upcoming release!

Chloe’s Odyssey: Book 3 of the Nephilim Redemption Series

The perfect story for the holidays—experience with Chloe the first Christmas in a gripping, emotional adventure. Travel with her on an historical journey and feel the tension and vulnerability as she enters into a shaky alliance with her former enemy to try to save her own timeline. And hold your breath as she takes on a daring rescue mission, one from which she’s uncertain she will ever return.

RELEASE DATE: NOVEMBER 28, 2016

Curious about book one of the series?

Chloe’s boyfriend cheats on her and she just wants to die. But it’s not so easy to end it all. An amazing winged creature swoops in and saves her mid-jump. The angelic intervention must be a sign her troubles are over! But things only get worse. Missing her plane, losing her passport, crashing her car are nothing compared to when gangbangers jump her on a dark, empty street. She’s too paralyzed with fear to even scream for help. But her amazing half-angel creature reappears and saves her again—flying her right up through the heavens!

But they soar directly into more trouble. Horatius, her Nephilim savior, has a heap of his own problems. His beer habit doesn’t help a bit when he has to fight against his demon father, who targets Chloe with his evil rage. Chloe needs to be protected, and Horatius transports her to sixteenth century Scotland to hide her. But a curse renders him powerless and medieval Highlanders kidnap Chloe. Separated from Horatius, she has to depend on her own wits to escape and survive, and then negotiate with demons to get back to her own time and life.

Grab your copy on Amazon today or add it to your Goodreads list!

Attention: Micro Fiction Writing Contest!

Tags

Indi, Prizes, Speculative Fiction, Writing Contest

It’s been a while since I last hosted a writing contest so I think it’s time for another one!

Our theme once again is Micro Fiction.

That’s stories of 500 words or less.

No entry fee required.

Up to 50 entrants will be allowed to compete for fabulous prizes. 

Guidelines are as follows:

1. Must have at least one self-published book (please provide a link in your e-mail)

2. Must be a subscriber to the Amid the Imaginary newsletter

3. Story must be 500 words or less and in one of the genres of the blog (Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Paranormal, Dystopian/Post-Apocalyptic, Steampunk)

4. One entry per person and once submitted the entrant cannot resubmit

5. Story format must be in PDF

DEADLINE to submit: Noon, 12:00 pm (U.S. Central Standard Time) on Monday, August 22nd. No exceptions.

Email your submission to FineFablesPress@gmail.com, Subject: Writing Contest Submission

Be sure to adhere to the guidelines listed above as it may impact the judgement of your entry if you do not.

Contest Judges:

Intisar Khanani, talented Indie author and all around awesome person, currently making huge waves in the book world with her latest Fantasy novel (If you’re curious, my review is here)

Kate Tilton, founder of Kate Tilton’s Author Services, LLC and host of the popular weekly Twitter chat #K8chat (check it out, it’s a lot of fun!)

And me, your friendly neighborhood Hawaiian girl!

On to the prizes!

This writing contest is once again sponsored by the wonderful people over at Tweet Your Books

They Tweet your book, blog or author website to 550,000 select and genuine users: readers, editors, publishers & writers who follow them on their Twitter accounts.

1st Place

• Sponsored Prize: 30 Day Set & Forget Package: a minimum of 10 Tweets per day for 30 days. 
• Winning story published in the Amid the Imaginary Fall newsletter and on the blog’s website.
• 30 day listing on the Amid the Imaginary “Featured Authors” page with spotlight of the book of your choice.
• Guest post spot or gif interview on Kate Tilton’s blog (for more info on that click here) and a chance to be a guest on #K8chat
• Guest post spot or character/author interview on Intisar Khanani’s blog

 

2nd Place

• Honorable mention in the Amid the Imaginary Fall newsletter.
• Story published on the Amid the Imaginary blog
• 30 day listing on the Amid the Imaginary “Featured Authors” page with spotlight of the book of your choice.

 

 

 

 

 

 

3rd Place

• Honorable mention in the Amid the Imaginary Fall newsletter.
• Story published on the Amid the Imaginary blog

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some Legal Stuff: By submitting a story you are granting Fine Fables Press the rights to publish the story online and in the Amid the Imaginary newsletter. The copyright and intellectual property rights remain with you. Please do not submit anything that you do not own the rights to.

We’re looking forward to reading your entries!

Please remember to carefully review the guidelines above. We’ll accept the first 50 submissions, and once again, that deadline to submit is Noon, 12:00 pm (U.S. Central Standard Time) on Monday, August 22nd.

Questions? Please comment on this post or on the Facebook announcement so everyone can see the answers. Technical difficulties? You can e-mail the question to me directly at FineFablesPress@gmail.com

Author Interview: Cheri Gillard

Tags

Author Interview, Fantasy, Self Published Book, Writing Contest

Could you tell us a little bit about yourself?
I started writing just before I had quadruplets. When I got a check in the mail I didn’t recognize, between diaper changes and feedings (and there were a LOT of those) I contacted the distributor and found out that an article I’d written for Proter & Gamble had been accepted and published and the check was my payment. Since then, I’ve been a freelance writer and editor for over twenty years. Before writing, I was a NICU and labor & delivery nurse. I’m also a violinist and I have fun performing here and there with my folk group or with a string quartet or orchestra.

What do you do when you’re not writing? Do you have a day job?
I’m lucky enough that my day job has been freelance writing/editing. I’ve worked with several publishing companies on work-for-hire projects, plus I’ve been a magazine editor and a fiction judge for an annual international contest. Though my real love is writing fiction, it’s still really nice to be able to get paid for writing, working from home, and on my own schedule.

Do you have a preferred genre you write in or do you blend them?
I have two favorites: speculative and historical. I love blending them, as I have in Chloe’s Guardian and Chloe’s Watcher, books one and two of my Nephilim Redemption Series. But I’ve also done straight historical. But another I did, The Clone’s Mother, is a medical thriller with sci-fi characteristics. The beauty of Indie publishing is I don’t have to be pigeon-holed into one genre and I can build my title list how I want.

You have two books out on The Nephilim Redemption Series. What’s it all about?
Chloe’s family is shattering into pieces, and when she walks in on her boyfriend loving another girl, she can’t take any more heartbreak and she becomes suicidal. Horatius is a Nephilim who wants to switch from flying with demons to the pursuit of virtue, and he needs to perform a good deed to show the angels his good faith. He decides Chloe is his chance to prove himself. But his drinking, poor judgment, and impulsive behavior only puts Chloe in worse trouble. With time travel, magical powers, curses, and just plain bad luck, Horatius and Chloe struggle together—and sometimes against each other—to cope with their lives, find love and acceptance, and discover what really matters.

Can you tell us what inspired the idea for this series?
With one of my work-for-hire projects, I was doing some research and I came across a Bible passage about Nephilim that I’d never heard of: Sons of God having babies with daughters of man (Genesis 6). I thought, “Wow, that would be a cool protagonist, a half angel, half human. If the Nephil changed into angel form, he could fly through the dimensions outside of time (time travel), and in his human form, he could desire to be human and have the privileges humans enjoy. If his Nephil characteristics clashed with his human hopes, he would be a character with a lot of internal conflict and be multi-dimensional. And of course, I needed a second character that all of his endeavors would mess with. And so Chloe, my dual protagonist was born.

What character traits do you feel are important in a story’s hero/heroine?
They have to be likable or relatable, but believably flawed. Stories with bad bad people and good good people can be so flat. I want characters that are confusing and keep a reader not only guessing, but sympathizing at some point with the “bad guy,” and angry at times with the “good guy.” If you always know who is going to end up winning, why bother finish reading?

What are some of your favorite books in Fantasy/Science-Fiction? Any Indies?
Time travel is my all-time favorite form of speculative fiction. Time and Again by Jack Finney, Doomsday Book by Connie Willis, 11/22/63 by Stephen King, The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger are my favorites. Timebound by Rysa Walker, is a time travel book by an Indie author that I’ve enjoyed.

You chose to go the self-publishing route over trad-pub. What led you to this decision?
After many years working with traditional publishers, and with several near successes lost because of bureaucratic or circumstantial issues, and after doing all the right things to get published in fiction without success, I discovered the door is just too narrow to let in enough people, even if the quality of writing is there. I’ve read too many traditionally published books that are not good, and too many Indie stories that are, to keep faith that trad-pubbed books are truly the only ones worth bothering with. Then as the culture/stigma changed with Indie, and more options opened to authors, I finally leapt off the perceived cliff of Indie publishing.

If you could go back and give advice to your pre-published self, what would you say?
I would have said, “Don’t wait so long!” I wish I’d done this five years ago. Now it’s so much harder because of the inundation of new titles available everywhere, and many of them for free. Standing out in the crowd is the biggest challenge. Contests and blogs and social media can help, but so much energy must be taken away from the actual art of writing to utilize those platforms. I wish I could time travel and go tell myself years ago not to listen to the trad-pub voices that told me Indie (formerly lumped in with vanity presses) publishing was an embarrassment or failure or defeat or humiliation. It takes so much MORE to Indie publish than with an entire house behind you and a team of people working with you to polish and produce the final product. Kudos to everyone who gets that far without the formal traditional team!

What are you working on now?
Book Three of the Nephilim Redemption Series, Chloe’s Odyssey. It is due out this autumn. Chloe goes in search of Horatius in the past before her timeline went awry and left everything wrong. She is going back to ancient times, boldly and courageously, but ignorant of the true peril she will encounter in an age so different from anything she imagined. The first book, Chloe’s Guardian, is free in ebook for five days on Amazon, so now is the time to get started on the series in anticipation of Book Three!

Chloe’s boyfriend cheats on her and she just wants to die. But it’s not so easy to end it all. An amazing winged creature swoops in and saves her mid-jump. The angelic intervention must be a sign her troubles are over! But things only get worse. Missing her plane, losing her passport, crashing her car are nothing compared to when gangbangers jump her on a dark, empty street. She’s too paralyzed with fear to even scream for help. But her amazing half-angel creature reappears and saves her again—flying her right up through the heavens!

But they soar directly into more trouble. Horatius, her Nephilim savior, has a heap of his own problems. His beer habit doesn’t help a bit when he has to fight against his demon father, who targets Chloe with his evil rage. Chloe needs to be protected, and Horatius transports her to sixteenth century Scotland to hide her. But a curse renders him powerless and medieval Highlanders kidnap Chloe. Separated from Horatius, she has to depend on her own wits to escape and survive, and then negotiate with demons to get back to her own time and life.

Connect with Cheri and explore her other work on her website: CheriGillard.com

This author also won 2nd Place in the short story writing contest. Read her winning entry here!

Short Story Writing Contest: 3rd Place Winner

Tags

Fantasy, Indie Writer, Self Published Book, Writing Contest

The Last Briefcase

Chosen Writing Prompt: Suitcase

Someone tried to kill Dad again today. I controlled the explosion, but it wasn’t easy. As it was a few stray motes of the bomb’s force sheared off, floating toward me like glowing soap bubbles—if soapbubbles blew your arm off when they popped. Thank heaven whoever did it only used a pound of C4, but more than that and Dad would’ve noticed how heavy his briefcase was.
It’s only ten PM, an hour to wait before I can sneak out my bedroom window. Here’s what happened after the bomb.
“That was sloppy, Richard.” Traibian stepped into the forest clearing from behind an oak.
“Why didn’t you help? I could have died,” I said.
“Nonsense. Failing would be good for you. You know the only way to come into your full
power is to relinquish your control.”
“Yeah, I know you keep saying that, Bro, but honestly? If the only way to reach my full magical
potential is to stand still waiting for my power to pop up and save me while a bomb goes off in my face, then no thanks, I’ll stay weak. I sure as hell wasn’t trying that strategy two weeks ago; that bomb was as much as I could handle.”
“The car bomb?” Traibian pointed at me.
I nodded. “Drained me so badly I was unconscious for six hours. Almost outed me. Had a hell of a time thinking up a lie Dad believed.”
“What did you tell him?
“When the first two stories failed, I told him that I’d taken the BMW to see a girl.”
Traibian laughed. “And he swallowed that?”
My lips compressed and my eyebrows crushed together and down. “I’ve been on dates.”
“Date, singular, and walking a girl to the corner store doesn’t count.”
“She’s a model.”
“And our cousin. Can we get back to the magic? Tonight’s the night.”
He spent an hour criticizing my technique. I cast the freezing spell so many times he had to heal my frostbite. Almost didn’t get Dad’s briefcase back to his office before quitting time.
Name’s Richard Gramm, and yes, Dad is Ignovious Gramm—inventor of the Enchantment Detector. I bet you’re wondering why Dad hasn’t detected me. Because his invention detects enchantments, not enchanters, and what I did to the briefcase isn’t detectable. The Detector is for hidden magic that’s primed and ready to activate, not stuff that’s here and gone. Since Dad announced his company was close to perfecting the Enchantment Jammer, the assassination attempts haven’t stopped. But even though they’ve steadily grown bigger, nothing could be as bad as that simple first attack, the one on the day Dad’s company rolled out the Detector. Why? Because of the consequences. When someone tried to shoot Dad, Traibian stopped the bullet—just
plucked it out of the air like a shortstop catching a ball one-handed—but Dad said he would rather have died, better that than have a magic user for a son. So he sent Traibian to a facility that rehabilitates enchanters.
No, I don’t hate Dad. You see, Mom left him with an infant and a toddler so she could
concentrate on her magic. Her last words to him were “when it comes to magic you can’t hold back.”
So for Dad, magic is the root of all evil. Dad institutionalized Traibian to help him. Besides, Traibian escaped to the woods outside town, never set foot in rehab.
At dinner, Dad had no idea about today’s near miss.
“Richard, when are you going to start sending out college applications?”
Dad’s valet, Thomas, put a plate in front of me.
“They’re almost done.” I took a bite of coq au vin. “Wow. Chef Andrés really outdid himself tonight, don’t you think?”
My applications are a sham, of course. I’ve been working on a plan to get a magical education, but with the hated head of the anti-magic movement as my father, it’s not going to be easy—either to convince the school to let me in, or to hide my attendance from Dad. But I have a guide, not Traibian, an adult enchantress named Cicerone I found on this online community for magical kids with parents who hate magic. Cicerone didn’t care about what my Dad’s done, just my talent. She’s agreed to sponsor me to an academy of magic if I can demonstrate my ability. She even says she’ll help Traibian. Anyway, I meet her tonight. So that’s why I’m lying in my bed fully clothed. Eleven PM. Time to shimmy out my second floor window.
I use a spell to make my hands stick to the wall as I climb down. When I get to the forest clearing for the meeting, I see Traibian sitting at the same oaken trestle table he’s conjured hundreds of times, but something’s wrong. He doesn’t answer when I call to him. Once I get close I see why: a spell holds his arms and legs rigid. It’s a strong enchantment too; I can’t do anything to it. An overturned tea cup lies on the table in front of him. I shake and slap him awake.
“Traibian. What happened?”
Traibian’s eyes go from shut to wide in terror. “There’s a bomb under the table. You have to go.”
“I’ll freeze it.” I bend down to look.
“No.” He shakes his head. “It’s bigger than the car bomb.”
“It’s okay. Take it from me. It isn’t bigger; that car bomb was huge.”
“This is twice as big.”
“No way.”
“Listen. It’s twice as big. I know because I rigged the bomb under Dad’s BMW.”
“What?” I say.
“I did it to get you to relinquish your control. I figured the only thing that would ever make you do it is the same thing that made me. Protecting Dad. Now get out of—”
“No way.” My mouth flops open, and I take a step backward. “You—”
“Listen to me. You can’t freeze this one, and I can’t either. Not when Cicerone gave me so much opium I can barely keep my eyes open.”
“Cicerone?”
“She’s a magic zealot. She’s like all the others who want to kill Dad and our family.
“But you said you were behind the bombings.”
“Not all of them, just a select few. Please go.” Tears run down his cheeks.
“I can’t leave you.”
“You have to. She’s a full enchantress. You’ll never break her petrification spell.”
“No. I have to save you.” I crouch down. Duct taped to the table’s underside are roughly twenty pounds of C4. There isn’t a hope in hell. My own tears roll.
As I rise, I see her behind the trees. Cicerone stands in a shimming bubble of force thirty feet away. She raises a remote control; she’s going to watch us die.
The bomb explodes. I see the blast as I float up above the clearing, playing the lead role in the cliché scene of a ghost watching his body die. Only my body doesn’t die. It pushes the burst of force back into the plastic explosive from which it came. Then I blink, and I’m in my body again.
Cicerone’s still at the edge of the clearing. I raise a hand and use my newfound power to pull her to me. I wrap my fingers around her throat. She gasps as I squeeze her windpipe closed.
“Richard, get your hands off your mother.”
I look up. Dad strides toward me across the clearing. He wears midnight robes emblazoned with moons and stars—enchanter’s robes.
“I said, get your hands off your mother.” Dad’s right hand jerks upward, and I feel a spell knock my hands aside. I’m so shocked I make no attempt to stop the spell, or even to speak.
“Our mother? What the hell are you talking about?” Traibian stumbles to his feet.
“It’s true. I’m your mother.” Her voice rasps.
“But you left. You left us. And you”—Traibian points at Dad—“you just cast a spell. I saw
you.”
“Very good, Traibian. I just cast a spell,” Dad says.
My world spins.
“No. No, you didn’t do all this just to get Traibian and me to relinquish control. That can’t be.
You can’t tell me that you planned all this sixteen years ago,” my lips quiver.
“Well, no. Originally, the plan called for another sharp shooter attempt on my life like the one Triabian stopped, but then your brother started teaching you,” Dad says.
Mom nods. “Plus he tried his own methods to get you to relinquish control, which only further increased your skill.”
“So we had to keep going bigger to find something you couldn’t handle.” Dad sighs.
Mom smiles. “Yes, it took some doing, but we’re all together again, and you two finally have your powers.”
“It’s like your mom always says—’when it comes to magic you can’t hold back.’” Dad kisses her.
Then Mom and Dad, their eyes full of tears and their arms outstretched, beckon me and my brother to them.

By Nicole Minsk, author of “I Know How You Feel: The Sensate”

“I know how you feel.” People say it. They don’t mean it. Hani does. Sure, he’s only eighteen, but he knows. Race, age, sex—doesn’t matter. He knows.

Things weren’t always like this. Hani was a normal guy. Well, as normal as a 6’4 Hawaiian growing up in Texas could be. He did have that strange inability to taste or smell, and there was that whole thing of being mysteriously abandoned in a trash bin as an infant, but apart from that and the stunning good looks, Hani was perfectly normal. Then, the touch of a woman in a bar ignites Hani’s powers, and he can suddenly experience sensations through the nerves of others, smelling what they smell, tasting what they taste, and sex? He can feel everything his partner feels—more than that, he can control every last detail.

What he can’t control is how badly he gets hooked on the women he touches and how gravely his body requires that touch. Plus, new powers keep popping up. So it’s a good thing when he hooks up with Laurie, the scientist. Here’s hoping that his new girlfriend’s sense of what’s happening to him and how to control it is better than her sense of fashion, though, because what Hani doesn’t know is that someone is looking for him. And what he doesn’t know could kill him.

Bio: Nicole Minsk was born in Boston but grew up in Houston. After a short stint in medical school and a period writing technical documentation for software, she became a litigation attorney. Her debut novel, “I Know How You Feel: The Sensate,” received an Editor’s Choice Award on the Online Writing Workshop for Science Fiction Fantasy, and Horror. Her inspiration for Hani, the Sensate, came when she wished she could feel what her crying infant felt so she could help. In researching her first novel, Nicole consulted a concert violinist, a physician, a surfer, a host of emergency medical technicians, a native speaker of Hawaiian Pidgin English, a Frenchman, a Russian, and a Metallica tribute band guitarist.

Want to know more about this author and her work? Connect with her on Facebook

Short Story Writing Contest: 2nd Place Winner

Tags

Fantasy, Self Published Book, Writing Contest

Baggage Claim

Chosen Writing Prompt: Suitcase

I awakened so abruptly, sucked in air so forcefully, I thought my lungs would burst. The years—perhaps decades, or more—of my immuration had left me brittle, fragile.

But I would not squander my chance because of weakness.

While I could, I shot out of my prison and re-substantiated in the form of a man.

And came face to face with a hideous creature who screamed at the sight of me.

I shrieked right back. She was repulsive.

She screamed a second time, and then we both stood staring at each other, panting from our exertions.

“What the hell are you?” she asked, wiping tears and other filth from her cheeks and nose with her coat sleeve.

“Dare I ask the same thing?” I answered, straightening my topcoat. Her hair was quite unkempt. The charcoal she’d used to darken her lashes streaked with the tears down her cheeks. With the swipe of her arm, she’d smeared the black worse. In spite of her wearing men’s clothing, her voluptuous shape could not be hidden. I knew she was a woman.

A woman perhaps, but not a lady.

“Someone’s in the suitcase? Shit! I’ve cracked up,” she squeaked, backing away across the grass, her steps crunching in the leaves. She sank to the ground, hugging her knees close to her breast. “I’ve lost it. Order the straightjacket people.”

Her complete despondency pulled at my sympathies, though her words confused me. “Pray tell, what has left you so distraught?”

“Great. Now I’m going to talk to my hallucination. But sure? Why not? Okay. Here you go. My ex, that’s what. I’ve been dumped. For some flirt from his office.”

She made little sense to me. “How did you come to open my prison?” I inquired, gesturing to the valise. “You’ve set me free.”

“Lucky you. I took the wrong suitcase. It was dark. Now I don’t even have a change of underwear.” The last word dissolved into sobs.

“Your circumstances are clearly vile. While mine, thanks to your actions, are vastly improved. For freeing me from my imprisonment, I will grant you favor. You may wish whatever you like from me.”

She laughed suddenly, an unnerving, mocking sound for my ears, which had been so long unaccustomed to noise. “Are you like a genie or something? I get three wishes?”

“I will attempt to provide for your desires. You have done me a great service.”

Her laughter stopped and she eyed me closely. “Are you for real?” She got up and poked her finger into my chest twice, three times, apparently testing my corporeality. “You’re really here, aren’t you? You some kind of wizard or what? You can do magic?”

I brushed my lapel, feeling somewhat besmirched by her soiled hand. “Certainly. I said I would. I honor my word.”

“This is so cool!” she exclaimed, completely transformed by her smile. “Three wishes! Okay, okay. What should I get? I should have you castrate my no-good, cheating ex, for starters.”

“I would prefer you choose things such as wealth or prestige than waste thought on vengeance. For humans, I’ve found that usually ends badly.”

“Right, right,” she muttered and she began walking in tight circles, kicking at the leaves, chewing her cuticle. “Now would be my chance. I’ve always wanted to be on Broadway. I’ve practiced since I was a kid. I want to sing with a voice everyone falls in love with. That would show him, if I became famous.”

“So be it.”

I took her with me to the city. We bought her clothes and necessities, secured our lodging. After a bit of inquiry, I became familiar with the times and provided my new protégé with her first wish. I secured her an audition for the next predicted theatre triumph.

 

***

 

With the exquisite last note from her angelic voice, the finale concluded and the theatre exploded with thunderous applause. The entire audience leapt as one to its feet, crying out Brava so loudly the roof shook. Roses flew onto the stage at her feet. The next day, in print and by word of mouth, all hailed her voice as like nothing before ever heard.

We sat in her new dwelling, an expensive domicile at the top of a very tall Manhattan structure called a “skyscraper.” I was enjoying her energy, her optimism. She had an approach to life that infused me with vitality. Her audiences were drawn to that, not just her unparalleled voice. Though her public was saddened, her show had completed its run. It was set to tour with an alternate cast, allowing her a rest after her Tony-winning performances.

“You know, I never bugged you about it. But who put that spell on you? Why were you in that old suitcase?” she asked, smearing cream cheese on her bagel.

“Never anger a witch” was all I said. I did not wish to get into my history with the spurned lover who’d entrapped me, hoping forever to prevent me from living, from love. Though I was cursed now to languish to an unavoidable death, at least I had until the next black moon to enjoy what short life was left to me after my release.

“I’m ready for my next wish,” she announced suddenly. “Before kicking me out, he said I was unclassy. Told me I shoulda gone to college. I want style. I want smarts. I’ll show him. Can you do that for me?”

“A marvelous idea,” I said.

Over the next two years, we traveled far and wide. Though I was losing strength, we saw the wonders of the world, the exotic and the unimaginable. She became adaptable to others’ customs and accomplished at diplomacy. I arranged for her to sing for royalty and dictators. When we returned, she was transformed.

“It’s good to be home,” she said, curling up with a glass of wine on the davenport near me. “Are you glad to be here?”

Where we were mattered little. That we were together was everything to me now. With experience and maturity, she’d blossomed into a treasure. My treasure.

“I still have one wish left,” she said, leaning the full length of her body along mine. Though educated now, she was still naïve. So innocent. She had no idea what pressing her body against mine did to me. “I want my ex to see me now. To fall head-over-heels in love with me.”

Her words were a stake driven through my heart. Nevertheless, I arranged the meeting. At a fund-raising soiree she could see that man, and I would allow fate to intrude.

When the dreaded night came, in the back of the limousine, she said, “I want to be loved more than anything. Can you make it happen? More than he loves my replacement, more than he loves himself?”

“It is as good as done. You are loved more than you can fathom.”

She smiled, and I felt that stake twist in my chest.

The object of her obsession greeted my treasure with his new wife on his arm. He was courteous but distracted. His wife, clearly with child, kept his full attention. After the hideous affair, in the car on the way home, she said, “That was nothing like I’d imagined. He looked right through me. And I didn’t really care. Seeing him was like an old faded dream. Whatever you did, that wish didn’t work.”

I could say nothing. I looked into her eyes, worrying she would find my deteriorating appearance repulsive. I tried to find words, to decide what I should say.

Her expression softened. She saw something in my eyes. My heart skipped. Could it be…?

“You look terrible. Are you sick? I didn’t notice before.”

The hope I’d tasted for one brief moment withered.

“I’m dying,” I admitted.

“No!” Her vehemence shocked me. “I need you!”

“You will be fine.”

“I won’t! Don’t say that.” She threw her arms around me, hugging me to her breast. Her sobs surrounded us.

“I must confess something. It will help, I think,” I said. “I used no magic. You didn’t need your wishes fulfilled with deviltry. You have accomplished all you have by your own capability.”

She composed herself, and dabbed at her tears with the handkerchief from my tuxedo breast pocket. She looked up and locked her eyes on mine.

“I realized something tonight. I am loved. And I didn’t even see it.” She pulled me again into her embrace. “If only I had a real wish left. I would give it to you.”

When she released me and looked again into my face, I was no longer the wasted apparition I’d become. Her unused, relinquished wish had transformed me to the man of flesh I’d once been in the prime of my mortal life. And she kissed me with a passion I’d only dreamed of.

By Cheri Gillard, author of “Chole’s Guardian: The Nephilim Redemption Series Book 1“. This author is also the previous Second Place winner of the Micro Fiction Writing Contest on Amid the Imaginary.

Chloe’s boyfriend cheats on her and she just wants to die. But it’s not so easy to end it all. An amazing winged creature swoops in and saves her mid-jump. The angelic intervention must be a sign her troubles are over! But things only get worse. Missing her plane, losing her passport, crashing her car are nothing compared to when gangbangers jump her on a dark, empty street. She’s too paralyzed with fear to even scream for help. But her amazing half-angel creature reappears and saves her again—flying her right up through the heavens!

But they soar directly into more trouble. Horatius, her Nephilim savior, has a heap of his own problems. His beer habit doesn’t help a bit when he has to fight against his demon father, who targets Chloe with his evil rage. Chloe needs to be protected, and Horatius transports her to sixteenth century Scotland to hide her. But a curse renders him powerless and medieval Highlanders kidnap Chloe. Separated from Horatius, she has to depend on her own wits to escape and survive, and then negotiate with demons to get back to her own time and life.

Bio: Cheri Gillard has been a freelance writer and editor for over twenty years, working for several publishing houses and companies writing or editing projects, books, magazines, and curricula. Before writing, she was an obstetric and pediatric registered nurse, but she hung up her nursing cap when she gave birth to quadruplets, who are now in college. She is also a musician, regularly playing violin in a folk-style band and in other venues when she can fit in the gigs between writing jobs. She lives with her family in Colorado.

Want to know more about this author and her work? Explore her website here

Short Story Writing Contest: Winning Story

Tags

Fantasy, Self Published Book, Writing Contest

The Kiss of High Treason

Chosen writing prompt: Knight

To this day, words still whispered of the dark place concealed in the enchanted forest and the ancient secrets contained inside. Ariella had spent hours penetrating the thicket of oaks and silver birches hoping to uncover her one true desire. She knew the consequences for sneaking out so late unattended, but her rebellious streak overruled her ability to obey. They were always trying to control her. Training they called it. Soon, it wouldn’t matter anyway. Soon, all that would be a thing of the past.

Retracting her cloak’s hood, Ariella’s mouth fell as she beheld the rainbow of stained glass adorning the stone archway. She identified where to go once she’d passed through the lofty entrance and with grace slinked up the steep, crumbling stairs. Her skirt suspended above her ankles and she trod with vigilant footsteps. The charcoal organza of her dress fluttered in the breeze haunting the forgotten castle, her flowing black ringlets dancing against the current.
Ariella held her breath as she entered the decaying tomb. At first, she was sure dust pulsated through the air, but when she looked a little closer she couldn’t help but smile at the tiny glistening orbs.

“Fairy dust…” she whispered.

The knight’s armour, much to her surprise, was as refined as the day it was crafted, intricate swirls highlighting his large frame. Her reflection was a crystal replica of herself, the moonlight enhancing her charming face. With a delicate hand, she lifted the knight’s visor on his helm. He wasn’t the ogre the legends claimed, instead possessing a strong jaw line, pert nose and roguish smile. He didn’t have an endless white beard, yellow skin or pointed teeth and Ariella thought him rather handsome. A fine suitor for someone as highborn as herself.

Her soft, unkissed lips pressed against the knight’s rugged mouth. The deed was pleasanter than she’d imagined, sending her heart into a flurry. His eyelids unfastened like a moth’s wings, heavy with age to unveil his steely blue eyes.

“I thought I would nev’r wake again,” he said with a froggish voice, rusted and stiff. “Thou has’t rescued me from an eternity of slumber.”

Ariella perched herself on his stony bed, tossing her hair over one shoulder.

“How many years hast I slept under this curse?”

“Almost a thousand years,” she teased a curl of his golden hair away from his face. “Only royal blood can break the spell.”

“Royal blood?” The knight seized her tiny wrist, yanking her hand close to his chest as he sat upright. “Don’t thee knoweth wherefore I wast sentenced?”

“Of course,” Ariella rolled her emerald eyes and edged nearer, placing her free hand upon his metallic shoulder. “I’m a princess so I grew up hearing all the myths about you.”

“So wherefore art thou hither?”

“Why else?” A smirk crept on her pale face as she caressed his corroded sword lying beside him. She would have to work on his language, too old worldly and outdated for her taste. “You were cursed for treason, assassinating the ones you were sworn to protect. I want you to finish your mission that was corrupted all those years ago. I’m the next heir to the throne. Kill my parents, and I will make you my king.”

By K. A. Angeliss, author of “The Butterfly Project”

How much do you really trust your government?

Kwan is a political prisoner at Camp 22, Aradia is a mental patient at Serbsy Centre and the twins 164XY and 626XY are a product of a lab. They are all property of their governments to experiment on at will, hidden away from the public’s eye.

After years of her emotions being repressed Aradia begins dreaming again, against the Doctors’ knowledge. Suddenly the impossible seems imaginable and revolution is imminent.

Project Butterfly is the first installation of a series based on actual experiments on the human mind: A tale of horror, the supernatural, human nature and rebellion.

Bio: K. A. Angliss is a new author of the sci-fi genre choosing self-publishing over traditional methods of publication, not wanting to give up artistic authority and enjoys being more ‘hands on’ in all aspects of her work.

Angliss has always had a passion for reading and writing but it was only in her mid-twenties that she found her own defining writing style and the confidence to get her ideas down onto paper.

“Project Butterfly” is based on actual experiments on the human mind, a subject that has greatly affected K. A. Angliss when discovering information on past human experiments throughout the world which inspired her to write.  It was a finalist in the 2014 Wishing Shelf Independent Book Awards.

 The second installment to this, “Project Mayhem”  was released May 2015. Angliss is currently writing the third in the series which is expected to be released in 2016.

She lives in Essex with her partner, daughter, dog and three rabbits.

Want to know more about this author and her work? Explore her website here

Time’s Up!

Tags

Newsletter, Short Story, Writing Contest

Thank you to all those who submitted their entry to the Short Story Writing Contest! I hope you had fun with the prompts:)

We, the contest judges, are super excited to go through the entries. The results will be sent out to the participants by approximately mid-December.

Did you miss this contest? Not to worry! Another is coming soon, so keep an eye out for updates here on the blog.

Mahalo!

Micro Fiction Contest: Third Place Winner

Tags

Micro Fiction, Science-Fiction, Writing Contest

 Head Games

“It’s charming, in a medieval-insane-asylum way,” Patrick Faber mumbled to his wife. The fencing that guarded Garceau’s Institute ran up and down a grassy hill, forming a crooked iron smile.

“Remember, Dr. Williams said this place was the best,” Jennie said. She pulled on the clammy hand of her teen-aged son, Terry. He shuffled along and looked at her with eyes stained red from thirty days of sleep deprivation. When they reached the entrance, the weathered doors opened to reveal two men.

“You are late,” said the first man. His bushy brown beard and wrinkled lab coat told of a dedication to working over grooming.

“This place isn’t easy to find,” Patrick snapped back. The other man, dressed in a black suit, approached with open arms.

“Forgive Dr. Garceau, he’s overworked. Please, come inside.” After the Fabers entered the gothic hall, the second man cleared his throat. “My name is Director Pablo Delacruz,” he said with a warm smile. “Pardon our haste, but we have a full schedule tonight. We should begin the sleep study immediately.” Dr. Garceau placed his arm on Terry’s shoulder to lead him away.

“I’m coming too,” Patrick insisted.

“It’s best if you let him work with your son privately,” Pablo suggested. “While you wait, we can review your case.” Patrick stepped back after seeing a nod from his wife.  Then Dr. Garceau and Terry departed to a darkened hallway.

“How long has Terry been sleepwalking?” Pablo asked.

“Four weeks. Ever since he played that online game, Maze Mayhem,” Jennie answered.

“When did he start speaking new languages?” Pablo inquired.

“Last week. First Russian, then Greek.” Patrick said. “Then one I didn’t recognize.”

“It was ancient Gaelic,” Pablo answered. “After that, Terry broke into the museum and stole the Sumerian tablet?”

“Yes,” Jennie whispered. “He said he needed to finish a quest.”

During the next hour, Pablo posed more questions until a distant voice yelled incomprehensible words.

“What’s going on?” Patrick demanded.

“Have faith,” Pablo said. Another gurgling scream echoed from the hall.

“We’re leaving!” Patrick shouted, rushing toward the corridor. He stopped when he saw his son running toward him. Dr. Garceau limped behind.

“Dad!” Terry exclaimed. The teen’s face brightened, free of its gloom. “Where are we? What’s going on?” Tears streamed down Patrick and Jennie’s face as they hugged their son.

“Doctor, how can we thank you?” Jennie said.

“Destroy your computer,” Dr. Garceau wheezed.

After escorting the appreciative family outside, Pablo returned to his associate. Dr. Garceau’s brown beard now featured a gray streak. He leaned against the wall and dabbed his bloodied nose. Both of them turned to the window when headlights blazed at the gate.

“René, you must rest,” Pablo urged, frowning.

“It came through,” Garceau replied, watching horror crawl across Pablo’s face. He lit a cigarette with trembling fingers. “It will not stop. So we cannot.”

“Through the game?”

“New methods. Old hunger.”

“My daughter plays that game,” Pablo gasped. “What should I do?”

“Make her read books instead.”

By Eric Dallaire, author of “Shades: The Gehenna Dilemma”

In 2039, when people die owing money, the government turns them into mindless servants. Shades. These undead workers toil until their debts are settled. Without complaint, they pave roads, till fields, and build moon settlements for the wealthy.

Jonah Adams struggles to balance his life in this grim world. To prevent his dying mother from becoming a shade, he joins the IRS as a ghoul, an agent that collects recently deceased debtors. The pay is good, but the cost is high. His girlfriend, Vanessa, a bankruptcy lawyer protecting the rights of the poor, despises his line of work. To set things right, he just needs to complete a few more missions. With luck, he can settle all scores and maybe have enough to buy two tickets to the lunar colony. However, nothing comes easy for Jonah, especially when others come to reap what he has sown.

Bio: Eric Dallaire wrote his first book in 1995, the Strategy Guide for The Journeyman Project: Buried in Time for Prima Publishing. This led to a full time job at Presto Studios, a pioneer in the early CD-ROM adventure game genre. He became lead writer and designer of the acclaimed Journeyman Project adventure game series. Then Eric accepted the role of head writer for Activision, writing and producing Star Trek Hidden Evil and Away Team with Paramount Studios. Later, he formed his own mobile games studio and developed applications for Electronic Arts, Amazon, and other publishers. In 2005, he broke new ground with the Kindle, partnering with Amazon to create that platform’s first interactive adventure novel. The sci-fi noir novel Dusk World became the first Kindle book to feature a nonlinear story with multiple endings based on reader choice. The digital novel rose to number 54 on the Kindle Top 100. When he’s not writing, Eric pursues the development of technologies to further educational causes. He co-founded TeachTown, a company with a mission to deliver online lessons and applied behavioral treatments for children with autism and special needs. He co-authored a study that showed TeachTown’s intervention of behavioral science and game focused reward structure improved learning. More recently, he designed and produced Age of Learning’s groundbreaking mobile application to teach English to Chinese students. If you’d like to read more about him, check out his site at ericdallaire.com for more updates.

Writing Contest: Deadline Reminder

Tags

Free Advertising, Self Published Book, Short Story, Speculative Fiction, Writing Contest

Hey there, fellow scribes!

Just a friendly reminder that the deadline to send in your Short Story contest submission is this Sunday, November 1st, 12:00 pm U.S. CST !

Some fabulous prizes are up for grabs and there’s still space for additional entrants so polish up your story and e-mail it to me at FineFablesPress@gmail.com.

One final note I neglected to include in the original post: By submitting you are authorizing me to publish your story one time in the quarterly newsletter (if you’re the winner) and post it to the blog (if you place in the top three). The copyright and intellectual property rights remain with you.

Need a refresher on the other guidelines, here’s the link

Happy Wednesday!

Micro Fiction Contest: 2nd Place Winner

Tags

Fantasy, Micro Fiction, Writing Contest

History Lesson

When I came to, the students and desks were gone. Mrs. Barry wasn’t staring down her spectacles at me. I wasn’t even in history class.

I was running—yes running—in a group of Scottish Highlanders. Scots covered in mud and blood, yelling, waving medieval weapons over their heads. I couldn’t even think of standing still or I’d be trampled by the stampede of barefooted giants around me.

And so I ran, trying to make sense of the crazy scene.

In my own hand was the hilt I’d just held up in class to show as part of my presentation, a remnant of a long-ago battle my great-great-a-whole-bunch-of-greats grandfather had proudly passed down, claiming brave heroism. Now the gilded hilt didn’t have a broken stub, but a long gleaming blade. As I ran, my knees pumped against a tartan kilt, identical to the ripped, ratted rectangle of fabric I’d brought to show with the hilt.

Then cannons blasted, blowing my eardrums. Men around me flew away, some in bits and pieces. The rest of us kept charging. A row of soldiers slammed into us, our weapons striking and clanging as men fell on both sides.

I swung my blade, nearly petrified with fright, but reacting with instinct. The battle went on and on, men dropping all around me, until only a few Highlanders stood.

The lull in the fighting gave the Scots a moment to retreat to a barn on the rocky hillside. I ran with them. We hunkered inside. They argued.

“All is lost. We must surrender.”

“Nay! Bonnie Prince Charlie will rise again!”

“His message, ‘each man, save yourself,’ ” said another. “We must flee!”

I trembled, wondering what in the world was happening.

Voices shouted outside the barn. “Come or we shall burn you out!”

When we smelled the smoke, the Scots sighed deeply, whispering prayers, and opened the doors. As we surrendered, many were slain. A soldier came at me. I cowered. He snatched away my sword. He raised it to strike, but only sliced off a rectangle from my kilt for a trophy.

The classroom materialized before me again, along with Mrs. Barry, waiting like nothing had happened.

Suddenly I knew. Grandfather hadn’t fought for the Jacobites, but had opposed them. He hadn’t been noble, but a bully.

After my report, I rushed to the cafeteria and found Leroy, a skinny kid with goofy glasses. He saw me coming and threw his sandwich onto the tray for a hasty departure. I waved for him to hold up, then sat across from him. He eyed me warily.

“Hey Leroy. I learned something today.” I reached into my pocket. He flinched. I pulled out ten bucks and tossed it onto his tray.

“I shouldn’t have taken your lunch money. Or bullied you. I’m sorry.”

He hesitated, smiled tentatively, and gave me a fist bump.

My knuckles left wet mud and blood on his as I pulled away my hand.

By Cheri Gillard, author of “The Clone’s Mother”

Releasing October 31st!

Kate has a date! An actual date, with a real person. Not just a Friday night with her finicky cat or a movie marathon with George Clooney. Mack is more than she could have ever hoped for. But there’s one catch: Mack’s lab partner, Kate’s creepy gynecologist, is up to something. Something dark. Kate finds evidence that the unethical doctor has used his patients as guinea pigs to make a breakthrough in his cloning research. She sleuths around, afraid she’ll scare Mack away if her paranoia is too obvious, but what she discovers might mean Mack isn’t what he says. Is he using her too, like all the men from her past? She won’t risk losing him until she figures out what’s really going on. But time is running out. People start dying. She’d better hurry. Someone knows she’s sorting things out, and that someone is working overtime to keep her quiet. Maybe permanently.

Bio: Cheri Gillard has been a freelance writer and editor for over twenty years, working for several publishing houses and companies writing or editing projects, books, magazines, and curricula. Before writing, she was an obstetric and pediatric registered nurse, but she hung up her nursing cap when she gave birth to quadruplets, who are now in college. She is also a musician, regularly playing violin in a folk-style band and in other venues when she can fit in the gigs between writing jobs. She lives with her family in Colorado. http://www.cherigillard.com/