Tag Archives: short story

A Conversation over a Table Full of Food

My prompt:  Everybody’s got World Cup fever! Or do they? Your next story must include the World Cup in a prominent way (it can’t just be on a TV in the background) 🙂

So I did a thing. 

I wrote a controversial short story. And even though I hope it doesn’t, I know it will offend people. 

Keep in mind a couple things:

1) Originally, I wrote this out of frustration. My biggest “thing” as of late is people with opposing views waging war against each other. In a world where everyone can say what they want, there’s bound to be someone that thinks different than you. Religion. Politics. Sports. Prejudices. I am all for having your own views as I feel this demonstrates freedom of choice, but I am very against the ways people choose to act out their differences. Fighting? Killings? Posting rude or nasty pictures on social media sites to make the other side evoked? Please, LET IT END. Work out differences in way that can be civil. No good ever came from forcing someone to see your side of things. I hope that by reading this short story (written by an imperfect human being) that you can see that there is a peaceful solution to having differences. 

2) As the writer of this short story, I’d like to say that I am friends with people of all opinions. And I love those with different views because they help me see the bigger picture in life. And, dare I say it, they even make me feel stronger in my own faith. And from what I’ve experienced, a simple conversation has gotten me a lot farther than “shoving what I believe down someone’s throat.” (Last line is in quotations because this is the example used by a friend that spent time talking with me about difficult topics.) This conversation is actually based off of one I had in college. I promised the person I originally talked to about this subject that I would one day put my thoughts in writing. Well now I did. Your name isn’t Jason, but you did challenge me to put some thought into how I viewed life. So thanks!

3) My views are mine and mine alone and do not reflect my co-writer’s thoughts. In fact, this is a conversation we haven’t really talked in depth about. I do know that she loves people. 🙂 

4) If you are still reading this long intro, please go into reading my story with an open mind. I’m not looking for agreement. I’m just a girl that thought it was time to give an inside glance into the thoughts I’ve yet to share with the interweb. 

5) I hope the World Cup in this story is prominent enough for you, M. 😉 

6) I almost didn’t post this because I had panic attack like symptoms over how this might be accepted. But you know what… I can’t be ashamed of my own thoughts. I’m a writer and I write. That’s that.

7) Number 6 happened because I almost went and deleted this whole thing.

8) I’m still debating it.

9)I’m sending myself to bed now.

10) dsafhdjskfhalkejcnrlwekrjvh


A Conversation over a Table Full of Food

One would think it’s a crime to walk into a World Cup party wearing a hockey jersey. At least, that’s the impression I got when I walked through my friend’s front door and fifteen sets of eyes immediately glared at me. One of them even boo’s me, pointing at my shirt.

Jason, my friend from COM 103, makes a gagging sound as I join him at the food table. He dips a scoopable chip into some salsa before leading a generous portion to his mouth. “Did you forget which sport is playing today, Nat?” I shudder at the fixed nickname that’s been following my whole life. I wish people called me by my full name: Natalie. Instead, I’m forced to share the same name as the annoying bugs that swarm the air in the summertime.

“Not a big soccer person,” I say, surveying the table. The hostess went all out on this party. Appetizers on the left and casseroles, sandwiches, and a roast in the middle all lead to an impressive dessert display at the end. I spot pizza puffs mixed into the buffet and drop two on a plate. “Hockey is a much better sport, anyways.”

Jason huffs, a spitlet of red juice falling on his shirt. “No way! Soccer is worldwide. Hockey just gets Canada, eh.”

I smoosh the puff on my plate under my finger. “Wrong. Haven’t you ever watched the Olympics?” I roll my eyes and sigh dramatically. Jason covers his mouth with the back of his hand and laughs. “But, at least America has the Blackhawks under its belt.”

Jason stops laughing and nods at my shirt. “You’re a Blackhawks fan? Geez, Chi-Town, I couldn’t tell.” He glances at the TV and then at the couch. He looks like he wants to join them, but decides against it. “Sucks you’re going to school in only THE GREATEST HOCKEY TOWN IN THE WORLD.”

Someone from the bathroom chants “LA Kings. LA Kings.”

“You guys win one Stanley Cup…” My words trail off and I end the thought with a shrug. “Besides there’s always next year.” Damn. I was starting to sound like a Cubs fan. “Hey wait, I thought you were a World Cup kind of guy.”

“I am.” Jason’s lips tug up at the sides. “But if there’s a chance to annoy you or any Blackhawks fan, I’ll be whatever I have to be to do so.” Continue reading


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The Skin I’m In

Sorry for the late posting, guys! I’ve been back in the States visiting family so my mind and time has been limited. (As you may see when you read this.) But writing is important and I have to keep at it!! My prompt:



The Skin I’m In

I turned the corner and saw myself at four years old. Not a phantom, but the physical me, on the last day I ever danced.

When I was born, my mother wasn’t surprised at my lack of mortality, but she was livid. My hair grew out into pink waves while my eyes took on a sea green color that clashed with my sunset colored skin. Mother tried to use makeup and dyes to hide my appearance, but when my wings sprouted out from between my shoulder blades, there was nothing she could do anymore. “You’re disgusting,” Mother would say to me, her eyes never resting on me for more than a minute. “If ever there was an example of a dangerous one night stand, that’s you.”

I tried not to let it bother me.

When I was one and a half, I knew better than to look out the windows. I was a creature of disgust and needed to act like it. At the same time, I was supposed to act like the other toddlers my age, keeping my talking and observations to myself. Most days, I stayed in my room, dancing to the tunes that spilled out of my radio. I got quite good at matching my steps to the sounds, my body moving on something akin to instinct. It was the only time I ever felt truly happy: when my body became the movements of dance. Continue reading

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My prompt was to take this picture and transform it:


So I did. 

What happened was I took on a voice of someone completely different than anything I’d ever written. I’m not sure it’s good. I’m not even sure I like it. But until I’m 100% sure, I’m going to be proud of it. 



Her name was Roma and she was beautiful, even if she was deadly.

When this whole thing started, I’d been looking standing on my balcony, the waves in the distance luring me into a sense of dreariness. At least I’d hoped it was the waves. I was only on my third Birra Moretti so I couldn’t possibly be drunk. No, I knew I was still sober all the way up until my fifth drink.

That’s when I saw what I thought could only be explained as an illusion.

With her hands, she touched the man like a thousand year old vase that might shatter at the slightest pressure. Her lips moved in a way that suggested she might kiss him at any moment. My conscious hinted that it would be proper to leave them be, to walk back inside my room, finish off my drink, then head to bed. But curiosity got the best of my bored self and I watched. I waited for the beautiful woman’s lips to meet with the man’s, but it never did. It was then I realized she didn’t plan on kissing him.

She was singing. Continue reading

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Screw Valentine’s Day– A Story by David J. Jenkins, self proclaimed hater of Valentine’s Day

So when I saw Monica’s prompt, I panicked just a little. 

” Since you have to post on the 15th and it is February, you must write about a Valentine’s Day hangover. Now you can take this literally or metaphorically – it’s up to you – but the fact that it’s the day after Valentine’s Day must be a main factor. Have fun!”

For starters, I’m normally a big fan of Valentine’s Day because I literally love love. I really do. It makes me happy. But Valentine’s Day for me is just another day to express my love. I love my husband 365 days of the year and try to tell him that all the time. (And he does the same for me.) So for me to write about the day after V-day, it stumped me. When I think V-day hangover, I think of something not awesome. (Anyone who says hangovers are awesome have never had one.) So the REAL challenge for me was putting myself in the mind of someone who hated V-day. This story is the result of such thinking. 

This isn’t exactly my typical writing, so bear with me if it’s a bit odd sounding. 

Screw Valentine’s Day– A Story by David J. Jenkins, self proclaimed hater of Valentine’s Day

Screw Valentine’s Day.

That’s right. I said it. Screw it.

Whoever thought it would be a good idea to celebrate a dead guy’s martyrdom with handing out chocolates is one sick son of a monkey. I mean, come on. Do we celebrate Abraham Lincoln’s death with chocolate and pretty, decorated hearts?

No. We don’t. Continue reading

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The Mistake Girl

Okay, Radishes. For starters, HAPPY NEW YEAR!! 

Here was my prompt (that I kinda sorta followed?):


I took this prompt and wrote the story, then REWROTE it with a partially true story. (Hint: Look for the crazy manager in the story.) I’m a big fan of starting characters off at their lowest and then bringing them back into a happier light. I’m pretty pleased with this story even if it does sound a bit “rantish.”

Also, it is very true that if you cross a writer, you end up in their stories. BE YE WARNED. 


The Mistake Girl

It all started when Rikki walked into Starbucks for her morning shift.  Unlike the past four mornings that she’d woken up, today felt different. Hopeful, almost.

That was her first mistake.

Hope turned into dread as she realized who her morning crew consisted of that morning. Tiffany, the girl who claimed to know all the ins and outs of the place, stood at the register, her phone discreetly placed under the counter so no one of importance could see it. Brandon, a silent fellow with a devil’s glare scrubbed furiously at the espresso machine. It seemed like he was always cleaning what didn’t need to be cleaned. Lyle, Lara, Britt, Jessi, and Cara—all people that Rikki enjoyed working with—worked the night shift.

And then there was Dorothy.

When Rikki had first started working there, she was warned that she shouldn’t let the sweet sounding name fool her. Dorothy was the wicked witch and she was out to steal Toto (AKA your happiness). She was the meanest of the three managers and you always had to watch your step around her. One minute she’d offer you a smile and the next she was a raging ball of hormones bouncing around in a human shell. Continue reading


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Iced Latte.


Hey guys!! 

This is the last short story for me for 2013!! Come 2014, SaM will be filled with more of mine and “M’s” shorts. Be looking forward to it!

This short story is… as per the holiday season… CHRISTMAS THEMED!! I adore Christmas. It fills me up with gingerbread goodness and makes the happiness ooze out of me. I can’t get enough of it, honestly. 

The prompt we ran with write a story that begins with: “Off in the distance, I hear the sound of sleigh bells” I REEEEEEEEEEEALLY enjoyed this prompt and I hope you guys enjoy what I pulled out of my brain.
(If there are formatting errors of silly typos, I apologize as my word processor is currently MIA.)

Enjoy everyone and HAVE A MERRY CHRISTMAS.

Disclaimer: This is just a simple Christmas story about a bah humbug with bah humbug parents. There is no connection to my Christmases past. (Love ya, parents!)

And as always, stay radish, guys. 

Iced Latte


Off in the distance, I hear the sound of sleigh bells. That’s the sort of thing you’ll hear inside the mall on December 24th. There’s also the sound of mothers screaming at their kids as they pull them along, leaving the wondrous toy store behind them. Occasionally, you’ll hear the generic teenager running over to the Starbucks I work at explaining to her friends that she needs her daily “coffee fix” right before she orders a caramel frappachino with extra caramel.

I remember a time when Christmas excited me. Before my parents divorced, Christmas was the one day out of the year where the fighting was set aside and peace became the new focus. Even my older brother stopped his almost constant alcohol intake to enjoy a Christmas turkey. I’d give and get gifts and there wouldn’t be a frown in sight.

And each year I made the same wish: Let this never end.  Continue reading


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The Axe Girl

Sarah’s Prompt: In the spirit of our love of the slightly strange, I think you’re going to have fun with this one. I’m actually a little jealous of you! =)

tell this story


I had five different plots for this picture running in my head. 

This is the one I decided on. 


The Axe Girl


Dear whoever is in charge of where my soul goes when I die,

I never believed that Colin Graves stopped loving me. Not even for a second.

Not even when a red nail polish wearing, dark brown hair sporting, scantily clad she-devil named Tera Videl showed up in class one day with her arms wrapped around his waist. Even when Colin leaned down to kiss her with the only lips I’d ever known I knew it was me he’d rather be kissing. Even when Colin announced in front of the class that it was he who would get to be the lucky guy to take Tara to the prom.

I didn’t fall for it. Not even for a second.

The only thing I’m guilty of is not seeing how much of a devil Tera actually was.

Scratch that. I’m guilty of one more thing. Continue reading


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