Of an Orchard and Magical Realism

 

(tentative cover)

Moxie Madness is upon us.

The Virtual Writers community will come together again this year to write feverishly throughout the month of November. We will also host a number of workshops on topics as varied as overcoming writers block, the affective paradox in storytelling, establishing setting, and rhythm within a story. You can find detailed information about these workshops either inworld at Milk Wood or in our Calendar of Events.

The writing sprints take place at 6am SLT (Second Life Time) and 8am SLT. Thursdays, we start at 5am SLT and work till 9am SLT.

This year, I will again track my word count using Trackbear (a handy app).

My project will be a new story. This time, I will step outside my comfort zone of thrillers, mysteries, and whodunnits, and venture into magical realism with a Gothic undertone.

The (tentative) title of my story is The Orchard of the Returning Dead. It takes place in a remote coastal valley where an ancient orchard grows apples that occasionally contain memories belonging to the dead. The locals accept this fact without questioning it. However, when a young archivist (this character's occupation is a work in progress) returns to the village after his grandmother's death, he discovers that the orchard's memories are beginning to change. Dead villagers appear in impossible places and forgotten crimes resurface.

Well then, let's do this and wake whatever slumbers in the dark.

Beneath the Lighthouse Beam

 

AsaliaHouse

He slumped into a rusty chair someone left by the outside wall. He was the epitome of an empty glass. No car, no house, no pet, no marriage, no kids... in this order. "Believe in yourself," someone told him. Oh, he believed, alright, because his wife sold the house, kept the car, took the cat, asked for a divorce, and told the kids he had died. Just because the car was more important to him than the kids. Frosty, she called him, frosty. Imagine that. Then, the lighthouse spun its light across the horizon, and the chair collapsed under him.

100 Word Stories

Midnight

Oktoberville

 

Midnight. Everyone was sleeping. Except for the village ghost. He liked to pretend he was still alive so he wore a top hat. As he walked past one of the houses, he saw two candles burning. Weren't they all asleep? He wiped the window with his ghostly sleeve and peeked in. Empty. He swayed inside through the wall. Empty. He swayed back outside. Nobody. Suddenly, someone tapped on his shoulder. He shrieked, his top hat hanging on for dear life. Millie, the four-year old, was looking at him, snickering. Yes, this one would keep him busy for years to come.

100 Word Stories

Inside Out

 

Misali

She was afraid. The wind whispered the arrival of a storm. He sat next to her, looking pleased with himself. The more she tried to disappear in a corner, the happier he looked, and the worse the storm became. She started crying, and so did the rain. It'll be good for your flowers, he said. The flowers he would place on her grave, she thought. She was very afraid... The next morning, the flowers were all dead. He couldn't understand it. When she fled, she took with her one pot with a sunflower. She wasn't afraid anymore. The sunflower bloomed.

100 Word Stories

Zombies

Grimm Shores

The house featured on the brochure promised a supernatural experience. So they bought the full pack. A week of no sleep, little food, and malevolent ghosts. The first couple of days were quiet. A few whispers. A bit of woooooooo and a biting grrrrraaaaaaah. Not a ghost in sight, though. As the days dragged on, so did the wooooos and the grrraahs. It was annoying. The full pack had cost a fortune, plus they were hungry. As soon as they opened the door to leave, a horde of zombies stormed in. So the house did get its ghosts after all.

100 Word Stories

 

Angels And Demons

 

Land of Glory

You are me and I am you.

No wonder they frowned when they heard us. We hid and chuckled. They didn't find it funny. Not funny at all. We hid for a long time. We chuckled for a bit but then cold wind struck the windowpane and made us shiver, a looming sense of dread washing away our giddiness. Perhaps we were only meant to hide.

Perhaps they believed we would never be apart. And yet... You are me and I am you, but something shifted when we moved away for a long time. Well, you moved away. I stayed. I always stay. I am the lighthouse of your delirium. I anchor you when stormy weather pushes you ashore.

One day, the lighthouse will not shine to keep you safe. One day, it will just stand, mute in its darkness. And then you won't chuckle, not even for a bit.

You will look for me in the house we grew up in, a house with tall windows and heavy curtains, their birds and butterflies frozen mid-flight in eternal immobility. I will be there. I will be there looking through those windows, watching you. And you will believe I am still the lighthouse.

You will try to tell me all about your adventures and your new friends, contrarians all of them, of course, and the photographs for the new book you swear you'll publish next year, you must come to the party, it'll be wild, promise, promise, and I promise because I am still here.

Your tsunami of words pins me in place, as motionless as the birds and the butterflies. Yet, my thoughts drift away. I am me and I am no longer you.

You still chuckle, just as we once did a long time ago. One day, you won't, not anymore. I... I hide, certain now that I too must move... away from them, away from you. Just away from...

Sprint @ The Writing Place, 

the Second Life® group of writers

that chose Milk Wood as the home for their events.

Pancreas Poetry

LEA13 Cica Ghost

Poetry, a freakshow in the making. Add a postage stamp, someone yelled. He continued. Something about his pancreas. She felt sleepy. He spoke louder. She stood, right there, in the front row, but she felt sleepy. She must've fallen asleep standing, because when she opened her eyes, the room was empty. The stage was empty. Where's the freakshow? Where is he and his pancreas? As she started toward the door, a piece of paper fluttered to her. It said "Violets are red, roses are blue, my pancreas will burst, and so will you." It must be love then. She smiled.

100 Word Stories

Silence

 

Amar
(Closed March 2018)

Silence. She was teaching meditation now. Breathe in, breathe out. The group followed her lead. Suddenly, someone at the back moved out of sync. Breathe in, breathe out. Another one out of sync. She stood up and walked to the back of the room. Now, one in the front row. Stop! What is going on? Everyone shrugged. OK, back to breathing. In sync again. For a few seconds only... She squinted. A corpse-pale specter kept pushing her students. She rolled her mattress and swung it. The specter looked shocked. Breathe in, breathe out, she said, a smirk on her face.

100 Word Stories

My Name Is...

 "My name is... She stopped talking and started clicking. Everyone stared. For a full minute, she just clicked."

"Wait. You have literally lifted this from that film."

"No, I wrote this."

"You didn't. It's from that alien film."

"Ah, aliens. Right. In my story, there are no aliens. Something malfunctions in her brain and she stops using words."

"Forever?"

"Yes!"

"Forever...?!"

"Well, I'm not sure. I'm not that far into the story. I was thinking something neurological."

"Ah, ok. My name is... Mrs. ClickClick."

"Funny..."

"Get a better story. And don't lift any ideas from a film again."

"I didn't!"

100 Word Stories

Frostbite

 

Home

When words stumble through the page in a wave of sorrow, tears morn a future unlived. When a smile brings a tightness to the heart, one pauses just to breathe, a foggy gaze peering through, an overwhelming sadness stifling one's fears. Numbness creeps through the cracks of one's soul and one swears never to feel this chill again. And yet, it returns. Word after word. Tear after tear, the pages pacing relentlessly, gnawing at what remains...

"What? I thought it'd be a children's story this time," said Mouse. "The darn book shifted again... This online sorcery course is total nonsense."

100 Word Stories