Life in Living Color

Hello Radishes! As you may or may not have noticed, this story is being posted not on the first of the month. That’s because I didn’t write it on time. Or, actually, I haven’t written it yet. For various reasons both interesting and mundane, it didn’t happen, but the biggest one is that I’m in a bit of a creative drought at present. However, in the last day or so I started having an inkling for a story based on the prompt Sarah gave me (the first line of my story must be “No way!” and the last must be “You still owe me twenty bucks.”) and just now I’ve decided to let you all see what a first-ish draft for me looks like because I’m making this up as I go 🙂

“No way.”

“If you have a problem, you can keep your eyes closed. Or just watch a movie. It’s a nine hour flight and if you watch me with more than a passing interest for more then ten seconds – ”

“I get it, I get it.” Even though Nick understood Claire’s tone loud and clear, that did not make the questions about what she was doing vanish. He roughed his hand through his short blond hair and rubbed the sleep away from his eyes, leftovers from their first flight of the day.

Though her head was down giving the illusion she was fiercely focused on the tray table before her, Claire did see Nick’s perplexed expression. She assumed it was perplexed, anyway. Her glasses were of no help when it came to peering out of the corner of her eye. Still, it was more than ten seconds and he was still looking. “If you have something to say, say it.” Continue reading

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Witch’s Curse

Hello, Radishes.

This story is not a fun one. Straight up, it’s not. I was challenged a while ago to write what made me uncomfortable… what made me afraid. I didn’t know why at the time this challenge seemed too daunting of a task to undertake until it hit me. I was living the uncomfortableness that I was afraid to write.

Things have been going on with me that aren’t exactly thrilling, but I’m constantly fighting to make my life better. To fight my inner demons, or however the saying goes. Writing became something I couldn’t handle, so I needed to take a break from it for a while. I needed to find my way back to where writing was fun for me again. Where anything was fun for me again. And I’m nearly there. Through the love and support from my partners in crime and my stubbornness to never back down, I’m getting stronger.

This is a parody on being a writer with depression/anxiety. And it was hard for me to write. It won’t be mind-blowing, but I do hope it offers some insight on what it’s like to be in my head for all of five minutes. It’s the battle I’m fighting and it’s the war that I will conquer.

Names were based off of this Bible verse:
Ruth 1:20 “Don’t call me Naomi,” she told them. “Call me Mara, because the Almighty has made my life very bitter.”
Naomi means “pleasant.”

Mara means “bitterness.”

                                                                                 The Witch’s Curse

Once upon a time, there was a girl that forgot how to write. Her name was Naomi and it was her dream to share her stories with the world.

It wasn’t as if she’d forgotten the words, and it wasn’t as though all her grammar lessons had amounted to nothing. It was that her body and mind were placed under a spell, preventing her limbs and synapses from sitting down, picking up a pen or opening up a laptop, and creating something beautiful.

The witch at blame went by the name Mara. She was invisible, but had her eyes set on Naomi since she was a little girl. The witch had cursed her family with depression throughout the ages, making sure that no matter what hopes and dreams they had, they would never be accomplished. Or, if they did accomplish them, they would never be allowed to see the greatness they had achieved.

The curse hit Naomi earlier than most of her ancestral counterparts. Instead of waiting until she had something to achieve, it began when she found something she loved. Writing. Words. The power of a single sentence that could make a reader feel something deeper than anything else the shallow world currently provided. Crafting such magic became her passion; it soon became her burden.  Continue reading

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The Wednesday Before Thanksgiving

Welcome back, Radishes! I know our hiatus here has been a bit longer than any of us were expecting, but it’s a new year and we’re excited to get back into short stories. Due to other things happening in our lives, Sarah and I have decided that we will trade off months for posting. I’m taking January, she’ll take February, and back and forth we’ll go. And so, without further ado, here’s a story I wrote for a contest back in the fall. It didn’t win or place or anything, but I’m still pleased with it and I hope you like it too.

The piece was called “Stuck” by Anonymous and to their eyes it didn’t look like much.

“Please tell me – because I’m absolutely dying to know – how is this art?” The taller woman cocked her head to the side, one hand resting on her hip, the other at her face. Her index finger tapped against full lips curved into a puzzled frown. “Either of us could do that.”

“I’m not so sure I could,” the shorter woman replied. Technically speaking, her friend was correct. The canvas was completely blank except for a single black dot just off center enough for it to annoy her. Of course, she wasn’t talking about the piece itself. She was thinking about the getting a piece into a museum. What kind of person do you have to be to get into the Art Institute of Chicago where people come to see a piece of velum that looked like it could be in the aisle of any craft store except for the finger print that apparently made it worthy of a $17 admission fee and security guards?

If only she knew who Anonymous was so she could look him up and ask. Continue reading

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Holiday Magic Inside

“James! Are we heating the whole world now? Close the door!”

The boy groaned and complied, but not before taking one last look around the back alley. He didn’t see the door latch shut behind him, but he heard its distinctive click and felt it in his gut.

I should have made a run for it, he thought.

“James! Quit daydreaming when there’s work to do!”

“Yes, Mom,” he said, but she had already moved on to other things. This nook was the only relatively quiet place in the shop, sandwiched between the bathroom and the kitchen. Here resided the old metal shelves full of cleaning supplies and a doormat saturated with a decades worth of street salt and crumbs.

Nothing magical here, which James found comforting as the only non-magical person working at Farmers Family Bakery. In that regard, he had more in common with the mop than he did with his parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and even the stragglers who worked here all with talents that it was feeling like he’d never have.

But there wasn’t time to dwell on that, not two days before Christmas. Continue reading

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An Update

Well Radishes, as the title of this post suggests, this is not going to be a post with a story in it. At least not a fictional one, or one that was specifically designed with this blog in mind. Nope, this is an update. While this is usually the day of the month when I’d be uploading a new story, November saw our hiatus continue and that will be the case for part of December as well.

Don’t fret, though! I promise, everything is fine. In fact, writing has been happening! I finished a first draft of a novel in early November and have been hard at work editing and revising (as they say, writing is rewriting). I also did write a short story for a contest at the urging of a coworker, but I can only post it here if I didn’t win, which I won’t know until January. It’s something I’d never thought I’d do in a million years before SaM but now, not quite so scary. And Sarah has been doing her own thing as well.

So again, be assured that this is not an end to our little radish patch in our corner of the Internet. Both of us will be writing either Christmas or holiday or New Years stories and posting them later this month, and fingers crossed we will be back to our usual schedule in 2015. But until then, please stick with us and Stay Radish!

-Monica

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Faded

Prompt: I ignored both of the prompts Sarah gave me because I am so close to being done with the first draft of a manuscript – woot woot! As such, that’s where my focus has been. However, I did recently enter a story contest where the prompt was write 300 words from the point of view of a ghost. I didn’t win, but I had fun with this snap-shot of a story.

I didn’t really notice much of a change when I became a ghost. It was a lot like living in that even though my life was over, things went on as usual for everyone else, bills to pay and time to waste. To be fair, I could still do those things. Especially the waste time part. People don’t expect anything of me anymore because people don’t expect me anymore. Continue reading

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A Thousand Deaths.

Sarah’s Prompt: Curses! No really, that’s your prompt. In the spirit of Halloween, someone in your story has a curse. Do they fight it? Accept it? What is it? Is it just a part of life? Would everyone consider it a curse, or just that person? Let your imagination run wild!

I ran wild with it. 
This might be a bit out there because it’s a possible plot bunny for me, but I hope you all like it!! 
Oh. And HAPPY HALLOWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEN. 

 

***~~~~~~~~~~~~~~***

One minute there was a blinding, beckoning light at the end of the tunnel and the next there was only her. She blocked my path and stopped me from moving forward, her dangerous blue eyes tantalizingly haunting. I waited for her to speak the first words of our exchange, but she remained patient, her mouth parted yet silent.

“Something’s happened,” I said after what felt like an infinity. The seconds ticked by as I waited to hear the strange girl speak. She didn’t seem possible. Dark brown skin with hair the color of fire. It flowed down from her head into perfect ringlets, blowing in a breeze I couldn’t feel.

I didn’t believe in monsters, but the way her shoulders caved forward like a hunter about to bag its prey made me think otherwise.

“Do you want to hear a story?” The girl asked. She took a step forward, a grin pulling at her cheeks. “Stereotypical blonde hair, hazel eyes, pale skin… You look like a girl that really enjoys stories.”

I took a step back. “I don’t want to hear a story.”

“But it’s such a good story,” the girl hissed. For a moment, I swore her eyes blackened over. Her eyes were calm rivers hiding behind lava-red bangs.

I didn’t trust her. Continue reading

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