Posts Tagged ‘stories’

Aug 22.08.d234/w34
The Door

Note: I wrote this story in 1996. It was inspired by the many ghost house levels in Super Mario World. I’m talking old school Super Mario World for the SNES. The ghost houses always had so many doors and maze-like passages, and I ALWAYS got lost in them!!

My mother told me never to open the door at the end of the looong hallway. But one day I lost my self-control and opened it…and was gobbled up by a huge green monster with claws like chisels and teeth like helicopter blades, never to be seen again on the face of the Earth.

NOT!!!

See, we live in a castle. That’s kind of odd, ’cause it’s just the three of us: Mom, Dad and me. Both of my parents spend their days sitting around in their rooms eating caviar and reading Webster’s College Dictionary. They don’t even come out anymore. So I’ve had to fend for myself practically all my life in this huge castle, cooking my own meals and coming up with ways to entertain myself.

This story was inspired by being lost in Ghost Houses like this. Photo Courtesy of Video Game Critic

This story was inspired by being lost in Ghost Houses like this. Photo Courtesy of Video Game Critic

There’s this looong hallway in our castle that is quite different from the others. Well, it’s identical to the rest of the halls, with ten brown, wooden doors on either side (sort of looks like two opposing teams facing each other). But one thing the looong hallway has that the others don’t is an extra door at the end of it, and this door looks like it was painted red. THAT’S the door I was talkng about earlier, the one my mother told me never to open. All my life, since I was young I’ve wondered, dreamed and imagined what could be behind that red door. I remember a long time ago when I was 5. My mother (before she and Dad became hermits) caught me in the act of attempting to open the door. “There are hundreds of other doors in this castle. Why do you worry about THAT one so much?” she asked me. So for a while, I just forgot about the door. Until now.

One night, when I was sure my parents were fast asleep, I made my way into the looong hallway, and started walking straight toward the red door. When I reached it, I paused and looked arund. No one approaching. Slowly, I reached my hand out and grasped the knob. I turned it, preparing to scream if I had to…

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Jul 30.08.d211/w31
Arguments of Tanner & Darrell: The Grandma War
Tanner & Darrell, by Michelle Langston of Pondersphere.com

Tanner & Darrell, by Michelle Langston of Pondersphere.com

Note: I wrote the following story in 1997 at the age of 14.

As you know (or will know), Tanner and Darrell are two boys. Tanner is a year older, so he’s taller, leaner and a bit bossier. His hair is perfectly straight and fine, the color of dandelions.

Darrell is a year younger, so he’s shorter, fatter, faster and a teensy bit weaker. His hair is curly and feels like cotton, brown as the Earth upon which he walked.

Now, Tanner and Darrell weren’t enemies, but they weren’t friends either. They lived right across the street from each other, on the same block. One thing Tanner and Darrell did together was compete. This time, it was over whose grandma was better.

It all started one bright spring morning, when Darrell’s mother told him his Gran-Gran was coming to visit. He was so excited he ran to Tanner’s house, knowing he’d be jealous.

But it just so happened that Tanner’s Granny was also coming to visit, and he ran over to Darrell’s house to tell him the news.

They ran smack into each other when each was halfway to the other’s house.

“My Gran-Gran’s coming!” exclaimed Darrell.

“So’s mine!” replied Tanner.

They glared at one another, each realizing that the other wasn’t jealous of him.

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Jul 20.08.d201/w29
The Magic Pot
Italian Farmhouse by *mountainlegend

Italian Farmhouse by *mountainlegend

The story of the Magic Pot begins in a small village long ago, in a valley deep in the mountains of Italy. The folks living in this valley make a living by farming and trading. It is the only way to earn a salary. The bottom line is — you got no crops, you got no cash.

One family has no crops. They have no farmers. It is a major rule in this village that men do the farming; women the cooking and children the housework. Well, this particular family consists of Fiona, the mother, and her two children — beautiful little Vanna and tiny baby Phonsi. Fiona must take care of Vanna and Phonsi all by her lonesome — last month her husband Slyvester died of terrible cholera. When will they ever cure that sucker?

Fiona is faced with a serious problem: she cannot farm. Even if she is able to, she isn’t allowed to. A woman in those days did not have the same rights as a man. “What shall I do?” Fiona thinks. “We will not be able to make money enough to keep us from starvation.”

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Jun 22.08.d173/w25
The Sea Pearl

A ship waited, anchored, in a harbor. Her owner and builder, Captain Valor, originally built her to serve as his flagship, but loved her so much that he did not wish for her to be soiled by the rough sea waters. So he kept the ship tied in the harbor. Day after day, he sat and admired the beauty of her majestic sails, her intricately carved mahogany wood, her shiny bronze helm. She was the gem in his eyes, perfect in every way.  He decided to call her “Sea Pearl.”

The people of the nearby village loved ships and always came by to acclaim Sea Pearl. The final question was always, “when are you going to take her out on the high seas?”

To which Captain Valor would laugh and say, “never! Sea Pearl is too beautiful, I would never take her out because then the winds would tear her majestic sails; the water would soften her intricately carved mahogany wood and my hands would dull her shiny bronze helm. No, she is staying right here in the harbor, where she will be safe forever!”

There were other ships in the harbor. Their owners took them out regularly — fishermen,  oil riggers, leisure boats, sailboats. Captain Valor knew none of those ships could compare with his Sea Pearl in terms of beauty. None of those ships lasted nearly as long. Their sails were wind-torn, their wood was softened and the bronze color of their helms was grimy and dull. Sea Pearl’s harbor-mates changed as often as the seasons.

As time went by, Captain Valor noticed something. Fewer and fewer villagers were coming by to admire Sea Pearl when they visited the harbor. It was gradual — the adults would head for the other ships, but the children still wanted to see Sea Pearl. Then, even the children stopped coming, preferring instead to look at the other ships. Soon, his only visitors were parents bringing their very young children who had never before seen Sea Pearl. He was confused. What could possibly be so interesting about those other boring ships that would be junkyard material at year’s end?

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