Prose of The Season # 1 - Neverending

Prose | of | the | Season​

no. 1
[entries are due on July 5th]

N E V E R E N D I N G​

Hello, guys. Sorry for the delay, I'm sure some of you were expecting this, so I must apologize. But it's finally here. So let's get on with it.

You must write a short story that is "never-ending" what does this mean? Well, that's really up to you. In the end, you'll need to investigate what the meaning of neverending is, and how you want to use it in your short story. But to give you a head start...

• The story must not be shorter than 800 words, and no longer than 2,000
  

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• The story must follow the Creativity Corner's rules and regulations

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• If you wish to know the criteria used for judging, you may see it HERE

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• You may post in this thread, but please keep it spam free

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As you wish~

Spoiler

The Death of Old Misery

The clock ticked, ticked, ticked. The sound of children’s laughter from beyond the distant windows reounded in his ears, reminding him of years long passed. He strained to hear more, focusing his failing senses onto the window, as though staring at the light peaking through his curtains could allow him to hear the voices with more clarity; but he did hear them! The joyful cries of reality awakened old memories, and once again he was a father, sitting on the porch, letting the sounds of his children’s play wash over him. He could even feel the summer breeze against a backdrop of cicada cries.


The afternoon came. Twenty four times over three hours, the grandfather clock groaned its morose message, but ultimately it was the demanding rumble of his own stomach that roused Old Misery from his lethargic reminiscence. He blinked in surprise; the children had long returned to their homes, but only now were the echoes of their voices fading from his ears. What’s more, he began to become aware of a strange, foreign longing in the pit of his stomach, which he already knew would not be sated by the pathetic scraps of food lying in his cupboard.


He didn’t understand. This wasn’t his usual self at all. He’d decided long ago: he didn’t need people. They just weren’t worth the effort, he thought with a grimace, as though there were a foul tasting poison in his mouth. They always left him, be it his wife, bless her soul, or his children, all grown up and living in the next town over. “Although they may as well be in Papua New Guinea , considering how often they visit meâ€, Old Misery would have complained to his friends, if he had had any. Instead, he had his house. Unlike his wife, it had resolutely withstood the war. Even when the Hun blitzed the streets, reducing the other houses to rubble, it stood proud among the desolation, always willing to provide shelter. Yet unlike his wretched children, it did not run off and leave him for some brazen lady-house! He gave a hollow chuckle at the sheer absurdity of the idea.


Shaking his head to clear it of such foolish notions, Old Misery rose from the faded fabric of his antique chair to make his way towards the kitchen. Suddenly, he fell back, cowered. The prospect of venturing away from the window, further into the house, which had served him so faithfully all those years, was positively terrifying. Old Misery looked around for support desperately, seized by a sudden panic. To his dismay, his usual allies were nowhere to be seen. The grandfather clock, who had chattered to him on many a Sunday afternoon, was no longer in its usual corner. Instead, a lumbering behemoth leered at him, a deep, creaking growl escaping between the loud TOCK of its inhales.


Frantic, he glanced back and forth, looking for someone, anyone, to save him. No matter where he directed his gaze, no saviour arose. He was to be smothered in his seat and die a lonely death. He could feel the abomination drawing closer, its pendulum swinging rhythmically like a scythe. Unable to move, he could do nothing except feel confused and dithery and old as the creature lumbered closer, its decrepit breath evoking impossible memories of a desolate shore, a lone boatman beckoning him from the gloom and chill, inviting him to step onto the boat, to descend into the depths of the underground hollow.


Then a sound cut through the madness; a steady, rhythmic thud from the garden reverberated around the house.


Struggling to his feet, he staggered to the window, and with all the strength remaining in his world-weary arms, forced it open. The wind entered at once, barraging his face, sweeping the daemons from his home. The roar of the ocean, the sound of wood folding, and then the boatman was erased with the cave. A hideous scream, then the monster in the corner was no longer there; it was merely an ordinary grandfather clock, as it had always been. It did not growl or speak; it only ticked, tocked and chimed on the hour.


His attention was elsewhere, his house out of his mind. Outside, he strained his neck to see the source of the noise. There, in the abandoned car-park, he saw his saviours: a group of boys, barely in their teens, bouncing a ball against the side of his house, characteristically oblivious to the results of their actions, as only the young are. Unaware his face had been clenched, the old man’s features finally relaxed. A warm smile spread across Mr. Thomas’ face as he watched the children of a future generation go about their business on a Friday afternoon.

-fin​

 

Since The Beginning of Time
​

Spoiler

People walked past David’s window. He looked out and smiled. Things were going well, and ​

they always had been. Forever. Since time began, David had watched through his window. He had to make sure it would stay perfect. He wasn’t omnipotent, he wasn’t in control. He just watched. If something bad happened, David would pull the shutters tight and close his eyes. But of course, nothing bad ever happened here. Since the beginning of time.

“The itsy bitsy spider…†familiar rhymes passed around Quinn’s head and she sighed. She was too old to be in this class. They were all stupid and young compared to her. She wished her mother let her move up to the next class. Why was she still in kindergarten? She was so mad. She moved through the day reciting letters of the alphabet and smiling at stupid jokes the teacher made. She sat for story time with the other kids, but she never listened to the stories. Maybe she should have, once. Just once- one nice, peaceful fairy tale and she never would have done what she did. If only she listened to Cinderella, or Sleeping Beauty. If only she heard about children sharing, and days in the sun. But Quinn wanted control, and she wanted a storm.


Quinn was 6 years old and she considered herself the master of her house. Her older brother was off at college and her little sister was just one. She accepted she was ‘disruptive’ in the house. But she wasn’t at school. So why did her mother hold her back? That’s what Quinn was thinking as she clenched the handlebars of her bike and sped down the dirt road. She closed her eyes tight so she wouldn’t cry. She heard dogs barking and kids laughing, but Quinn wanted to get away from it all. She kept riding, and riding. The quality of the houses deteriorated as Quinn rode farther and farther away. She didn’t hear laughing anymore, she heard wind whistle through dead trees, and wolves howl. She stopped for a moment and opened her eyes. She shivered in the cold air. But she wasn’t giving up now. She had a point to make. She pulled her feet back on the pedals and was about to push down when she felt a bony hand on her shoulder. She screamed and flailed, trying to ride away, but the hand stayed there. She began bawling and turned around. An thin old man was standing there, his mouth in a tentative frown. “Little girl,†he said, “Why are you running away?†he asked, his eyes radiating kindness. She couldn’t respond, she just wrapped her arms around herself and cried. The old man shook his head. “It’s alright. I just think you need to hear a story. Come inside.â€

Quinn sat in an armchair, still crying. The old man offered her a cup of tea and she shook her head. He smiled at her. “I know you were running away,†he said. “Please listen to me. You know the town you live in is nice, right?†he asked. She nodded. “Of course. But are all towns that way?†He continued, and Quinn nodded thoughtfully. “Ah- but they aren’t. You haven’t heard of another town out of this one, have you?†She shook her head. “My name is David.†He told her. “I keep this town the way it is.†He said, closing his eyes. “You see, the world is a dark place. There are wars, and diseases, and always a lingering fear.†She looked at him in confusion.
“I thought those were things from scary stories…†she whispered. The old man laughed.
“No, dear. They are real. I’ve lived through everything you can think of. And this town will not face those plagues,†He said, crossing his arms. “And if a cute little girl like you went missing…†he said, leaving the end open for Quinn to answer.
“People would get scared?†she guessed.
“Yes. People would get scared,†he whispered to her, “And if people got scared, this town wouldn’t be perfect anymore, now would it?â€
Quinn shook her head.
“No, sir…†she said, “But why does it have to be perfect? Will anyone learn anything? What if something happens to this town and people have to fight?†she asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Nothing…†said the old man darkly, “Will ever happen to this song, little girl. Now go home.†He said, lifting her out of the chair. “Don’t tell anyone what I told you. It might interrupt the town.†He whispered in her ear. Quinn clenched her teeth and nodded.
“Alright,†she said. “I won’t tell anyone your secret. On one condition.â€
The old man glared. “Tell me your name, sir.†Said Quinn with force she didn’t know she had. The old man laughed.
“My name is David Late.†He said with a smile. Quinn nodded.
“Okay.†She said. “Thanks, David. I’m going home now.â€
And she did.


People walked past David’s window. He looked out and smiled. Things were going well, and they always had been. Forever. Nothing ever escaped David’s watch. Not even a little girl riding her bike away from perfection. He saw that, too. A little girl that wanted to see the outside world, where bad things happen. But of course, nothing bad ever happened here. Since the beginning of time.

 

I was wondering if I'm allowed to post the entry in a separate thread and give a link here (I'd kinda like to get feedback on it...), or do I just post it here?

(Will edit this post accordingly when I get an answer.)

EDIT: Here it is!

Title: Holiday in the Ardennes
Rating: PG-13?
Warnings: Some violence in detail, death, one mention of sex (well, two if you count the warning itself >.<)

Spoiler

He tries closing his eyes, but the flashing doesn’t stop. He clamps his frozen hands over his ears, but the high-pitched whine followed by a loud ear-shattering boom still pierces through his senses. He wants to huddle next to his friend in their foxhole, but he knows no-ones there, and hasn’t been there for what feels like months, days, seconds, years and hours all at the same time. Where he is time doesn’t matter anymore. His world is dominated by the cold, the yells for cover and medics, shivering, eating cold food that doesn’t feed, sleeping without receiving any rest, and that God forsaken whine followed by the nightmarish boom.

The short lull of calm in the middle of the shelling just makes things worse. He knows that it’s bound to start again in a matter of minutes (Hours? Weeks? Seconds?), but his heart keeps whispering to him, “Maybe this time will be different, maybe this time they’ve really stopped,” and he begins to feel relief sagging his shoulders, he raises his head out of the foxhole, pushing the fallen branch off of him, listening to the frantic screams for a medic and commands to stay down. He stands there, looking around in a daze as others get up, either to help the wounded or mirror his own confusion. As time passes less men are pulled back into their makeshift shelter, and even the most skeptic poke their heads up to assess the situation. He has managed to convince himself that it’s all over right in time for a sharp, yelled, “Incoming!” to break his mind yet again, and he falls back into the foxhole, not sure if he was pushed or if his reflexes have become so automatic that a simple word can override the dullness of his mind.

He stares at the place his comrade (his friend, his brother, his world) used to inhabit, and he wants to remember their joint laughter. Their stories of home, boot camp, women, and everything they could ever think of told through shivering lips. The tiny bit of heat radiating from their bodies as they held on tightly at night. Their determined looks when they swore that the war would never get to them (now look where they were). The way the shrapnel had torn through the chest of his friend, so quickly (thank God it was so quick) ending a life that had used to bring so much joy to the people around him that the entire company was reduced to a state of unspoken numbness at his loss.

He wants to remember so much, but the shelling will not, can not, allow it. He wants to remember his family, his father’s booming laugh and the way he always made him feel like he had his fathers support. He wants to remember his mother’s warm smile and eyes, and the way he held him so gently, yet so tight as he was getting ready to board the train taking him away to boot camp. He wants to remember his brother’s and sister’s playful bickering, and the way they’d looked at him deep in the eye, and made him vow to come back home safely. He wanted to remember his fiancée’s look of pure love, the way she… well everything about her.

Her beautiful face, the way she could calm him down simply by being there, the way she’d try to cover her mouth when she laughed (he cherished the few seconds of extra contact he got when he pried her hand away gently), the way she’d quickly tuck her hair behind her ear whenever she was flustered, the way she felt and looked whenever they made love. How she’d fought back her tears when she told him that he had joined the Parachute Infantry right after December 7th, and how she had let those tears fall free when he had proposed to her an hour later. The way she had held his face tenderly, and told him to do whatever he must, before kissing him deeply, saying “Goodbye,” and “I love you,” quite possibly for the last time, before walking away with just one glance to spare, leaving him alone on his family’s front porch.

None of those thoughts cross his mind as the shelling continues, still as relentless as ever. His mind knows nothing but that flash and boom, the short pause that gave just enough time for the wounded to call loud enough that their screams would always be heard in their comrade’s dreams, and then again with that flash and boom. A part of him hopes that his mind would just shut down completely, leaving him an empty shell. A part of him hopes for the end. But there was still that biggest part that hopes that the bombs would just stop, and let them be.

He never gets to realize that the shelling has ended.

 

Here's my entry. It did take a while to come up with a concept and even longer to actually write down. Please enjoy!

Spoiler

Heaven​

The one thing that was on Michael’s mind was his crimson haired bride, Michelle. The world that he was in had offered him no such peace, so he had decided to create his own. Literally, there was absolutely nothing in this world that he resided. The only thing for miles was a pure, empty darkness. The darkness that surrounded him was like a prison.

He had lived in the human world long before entering this one. His life before even knowing Michelle was much like the world that he was currently in: cold and empty. For a long time, Michael was missing a vital part of human existence: love. Michael grew up an orphan, his mother giving him up at birth; but he had learned quickly how to appear normal and “all together”. It wasn’t until he left for college that he finally found what he believed was love and truly started living.

Michal had been wandering this empty realm for what felt like years, maybe even decades. There was no way for him to track his time in this place. It was the perfect kind of Hell for anyone who truly knew what it meant to feel. Michael never felt upset or depressed in this world, but there was also nothing that could make him the least bit happy or upset. It was a complete separation from emotion; it was almost like he never really existed.

The void seemed to be ever expanding around the young man, having no absolute walls or boundaries. Michael had no idea how he even entered this endless void in the first place. One of the strange things about this world was that Michael seemed to have never aged a day; and he had not felt any physical or hunger pains. Fatigue and exhaustion were also non-existent for him in this place. Michael had never stopped walking since he entered this place, not once, and yet nothing seemed to affect him. All of his needs were being sustained, which easily became a frightening thought for him.

The biggest mystery, Michael believed, was finding out exactly how he ended up in this kind of world.

Endlessly, Michael had tried to remember what happened on his last day on Earth, thoughtlessly trying to figure out what had happened to him. He could remember that it was a Saturday; the weather was nice and he had just awoken with Michelle sleeping on his chest. The next thing he could remember was waking up in this dark place, scared beyond his wits. Maybe that thought of holding her wasn’t bad for a “final memory”; it had given him the needed drive to continue on and find an exit.

“Huh,” Michael gasped. For the first time, since he had entered the darkness, Michael had not only stopped, but was able to smell something. It was faint, but he could clearly feel his nose hairs burning due to the odor. It was a humorous idea; this very scent was one that he was used to, but now he found it absolutely repulsive. It didn’t take Michael even a second for him to figure out the surprising smell.

He smelled beach water! Even before entering the dark world, it had been awhile since Michael had been to a beach. He grew up next to a coast line but the college he attended was in the middle of the country. In the end, that much didn’t seem matter to him; the simple experience of just smelling something from the outside world was overwhelming. As Michael continued to walk, he was introduced to another surprise. Under his bare feet, Michael could feel the sting of black road gravel.

Everything seemed to be slowly making sense in Michael’s mind. Almost instantly, everything seemed to be clicking together, and he started remember more and more. He and Michelle were still on their honeymoon on the day that he was stolen from Earth. He had promised Michelle that he would take her by the beach, the one that he would always visit after school when he was younger. As Michael kept his feet on the road, he could see a light signaling him in the distance. He hoped that as closer he got to the light, maybe he could remember more about how he got here. However, as the light grew brighter and grander, there was nothing else that he could remember. In an instant, the light had engulfed him, blinding him. There was a loud bang that proceeded afterwards.

The light had dimmed as quickly as it erupted. Michael was now standing in the middle of an abandoned road. It was the middle of the day, and he could clearly see that the beach was in walking distance. Before he could even move there was something that was blocking his way, keeping him completely still. The sight had nearly caused him to gag. A compact, dark blue car was lying on the side of the road. The driver’s side had received the majority of the damage, while the passenger side had only sustained a small number of dents. Michael moved a little closer, and saw a lifeless body lying in the passenger seat.

It had all finally returned to him: It was all an accident. There was no way for them to avoid the drunk, angry truck driver who was driving on the wrong side of the road. There was no room for both cars to fit, and their car was moving too fast for him to safely stop, and someone had to make a choice. In that instant, Mike had chosen to give up his own life, crash violently into the side of the road, and hope that Michelle escapes only with minor cuts. It would be his final act as a human being—no, as a man—to prove to the world that everyone has the capacity to show a never ending love for another.

Michael could only infer that once the car had crashed, the darkness had taken him, body and soul, only to bring him back to the place where he had died. He could see Michelle’s pale body, appearing to be perfectly asleep. She appeared to have suffered no physical damage, causing him to believe that she died of either shock or a heart attack. Michael knew that he had made the right choice, even if he didn’t mean to cause Michelle’s death. Knowing that Michelle was destined to die anyway, Mike knew that he would always give up his life for this woman.

Michael slowly opened the door, not fully aware of what he was doing. A few seconds passed, and Michelle’s legs started to step out of the car in a graceful fashion. Her eyes slowly began to flutter opened, and she smiled knowing that Michael was the first thing that she saw. No words were spoken between the two; everything seemed to just make sense between the both of them. In an instant, Michelle grabbed Michael’s arm and started running toward the beach. Michael ran at the same speed as Michelle, knowing that he would stick with her forever.

“We made it.”

 

Yes, you may. You can also copy and paste the story from one thread to another. I really don't mind, as long as you partake~

I'm glad that we're getting more entries.

 

Okay, finally finished.

Spoiler

The illusion of time

The monotonous drip of the tap, the murmuring hum of the fridge, the beat of my heart, all things that had always been since the foundations of the house were laid, left unchanged even in this lonely state. Each tick of the clock seemed slower than the last. My cold breath was oozing out in front of me like an early morning mist. I watched the door, waiting, hoping for him to return. Each day I sat staring at the door lock, preparing myself for the moment when his shadow engulfed the light from outside as he opened the door with open arms so that I could once again be his. 26 days. 26 days like this and counting but still I wait, knowing that he will return someday.


I can still remember the better days like the day we met. Tom. A man with short brown hair and gorgeous blue eyes that never ceased to dazzle me, he always wore the same blue scarf loosely around his neck even in the summer just because he could. He was tall and thin like a basketball player would be yet he rarely lost his perfect smile that excited me every time. When we were together I felt overwhelmed with love and devotion for him, it overflowed as my nerves danced and tingled with delight. I can still feel the warmth of his hand radiating into me as if he was right by my side ready to once again dedicate his time to me. Tom would always come home sweaty and exhausted from a hard days training but never hesitate to speak with me and I welcomed him home. I always listened intently, hanging on to his every syllable, watching his every movement and wanting nothing more for him to carry on so I could forever listen to his soft melodic voice.


We used to spend the winter evenings sitting on the sofa watching random old films and laughing at the bad quality of the sound, I could never understand what was happening but even that didn’t bother me, I couldn’t help but feel giddy with joy. To would always warm the fire up and say the same thing, “I think we need more logs Laura.” My name. Laura. I loved hearing him say it, it made me feel as if I could go and fly a rocket to the moon. The thing was, there was never any logs about so we always made do with newspaper and coal. I enjoyed watching the flames flicker and engulf the paper while licking the coal but barely denting it. I enjoyed watching as everything in the fire burnt and crumbled before my eyes- how could something so hard be so easily succumb to the fire’s power? I could never come up with a feasible explanation but nevertheless I continued to ponder it.


In the summer, I watched him endlessly as he bounced the hideously coloured ball around the court in the garden, the may he manoeuvred and kept perfect control of the ball made the sport look easy. I longed to be able to play with him but my body prevented me from being of any use. He loved Basketball almost as much as he loved me and he’s always been hungry for improvement, I didn’t mind, it meant I could see his perfect smile as he landed yet another ball in the hoop. I just sat there, taking in the many scents of summer, the pollen of a new flower, a nearby barbeque and even the smell of ice cream as nearby people spooned the creamy sorbet into their mouths. The sound of an ice cream truck would always come around the corner at exactly the same time and I would watch as the sugar hungry children queued with their parents awaiting their vanillary treat of the day. Some weekends I looked out the window as young people threw water at each other, turning that essential compound into a weapon, yet all through their wars they giggled and laughed while finding new ways of delivering fatal blows of wetness. Some went on for hours and at the end they would all walk into their separate houses, dripping with water hopefully heading for a cleansing session. I always adored the scorching heat of summer as it dawned on us, Tom and I used to spend hours going for walks and playing around in the sun’s rays. Every ounce of my body danced and tingled as we ran around waiting for the sun to go in. I will never forget those fabulous times of happiness and tranquillity.


But that’s when everything turned. Tom came home one day; I greeted him excited to spend more of my life in his company, but he frowned and without hesitation wedged his foot into my side bellowing something about how he was losing his job due to foul play. I let out a cry as a tear trickled down my face, I couldn’t tell what hurt more, my side or my emotions. I curled up into a ball on the floor wallowing in my own annoyance as I analysed what I could have done to prevent it- surely I was to blame since Tom couldn’t have possibly been so bad tempered that he lost his dream of being the world’s best professional basketball player. Tom stormed out the front room toward his bedroom screaming and cursing about how unsatisfactory life really is. I felt his anger and I wanted nothing more than to be there for him to make him smile but the pain in my side prevented me from moving so I lay there, waiting, thinking of a way to save us both.


The next few weeks were the same, Tom slowly sank into the darkness of the living room, the basketball court outside began to become overgrown with weeds, disrupting the smoothness of the concrete, just like the fuzz that became sprouting from his face as he left it untouched, he was permanently glued to a bottle of some kind with a ghastly stench radiating from his sweaty body. I couldn’t do anything; I’ve never felt so helpless as I watched him drown himself in toxic liquid that was surely damaging his body with every drop. There was a permanent indentation of the one man sofa as he slumped in it from day until night as if time made no difference. I began to lose weight, I couldn’t feed myself so what was I supposed to do? My hunger grew over the days, until I started living on open packets of dry cereal and other foods around the kitchen. The coarse flavours swirled around my mouth making even my taste buds gag but it was all I could do to survive.


After months of destroying his body, Tom opened the door letting the sunlight flood in as if it had been knocking, waiting patiently to enter. He stumbled out the house holding nothing more than a rope of great tensile strength, I watched as he staggered down his drive, stopping to catch himself on his once proud Mercedes. He was wearing his old ripped up jeans with his black t-shirt that now couldn’t cover his rotund belly. He then left my sight without another word, so I waited; waited for him to come home and tell me everything is going to be alright. I won’t leave, I couldn’t!


So now I sit by the door, watching it hoping for the smell of rusting metal and wet floor to be swept away by Tom’s warmth. I will lay here until eternity is over if I must, that is the job of a loyal companion, I am a dog who will live to see the day that my master returns to me.

 

Okay people, we've reached the deadline!

I must say, I'm glad and surprised that so many people partook. It was a pretty hard decision choosing a winner, because all the entries seemed to be very good, and they were all amazing and compelling. I had to re-read them all, because it was such a hard decision.

Spoiler: The Winner!

But in the end, Ienzo came out on top with her story, which was both emotional, and detailed, leading to an extraordinary final twist that was pretty interesting.

The Winner will receive a pin. At the moment, the pin is still in development, so once it has been created, it shall be awarded.

Don't get discouraged if you didn't win. I believe all the entries were amazing, and you should all be proud of your abilities. However, one of the key aspects is following the theme, and being creative with it. It's not just about having fancy words or the best spelling!

So I urge you to keep those creative juices flowing, and don't give up!