Hello fellow writers! Welcome to three word challenges!
Our first challenge is here!
Three Words: Smoke, Betrayal, and Darkness
Theme: Sad/Emotional
Rules:
- This is a short story contest. There is no word limit, feel free to write any amount you want, but no chapters.
- There can be violence.
- There can be romance.
- Try to keep the setting realistic.
- This story story is realistic, so venture from fantasy. Experiment with the theme.
- Don't stress. This is supposed to be fun.
- Have fun! Although it's serious, writing is supposed to be fun. Remember to keep the theme around the three words.
Prizes
1st Place - 600 Points + 2 Reviews
2nd Place - 400 Points + 1 Review
3rd Place - 200 Points
Submissions: Due July 20th (Wednesday)
First Challenge: Smoke, Betrayal, and Darkness
6 posts in this topic.
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Hazy. Unclear. The air and I had common characteristics. Smokey. Cold. My heart hurt and my lungs burned. The house's ruins around me were charred black and ash filled the air. I closed my eyes and felt icy tears roll down my cheeks. Why would he do that? Why would anyone do that?
"Carmen." I heard a voice. It was him.
"Carmen I'm sorry." I whirled to face him.
"Sorry?" I snarled, my fists clenching, "You're SORRY? Sorry you hurt me or sorry you gave my family away to the terrorists? The exact same terrorists who killed your family?" He took a step back and almost fell over a loose stone.
"Carmen I-"
"No." I said, "I don't want to hear the silly little excuses you have to tell. You knew what my family was keeping safe from them and you GAVE them away." Tears started to fall at faster velocity.
"No, Aidan, just NO!" I screamed at him. I fell to my knees again and sobbed. Heart wrenching, hiccuping sobs. Aidan tried to reach out to comfort me, but then thought better of it.
"I-I thought-"
"You thought what Aidan?" I snapped, "That I would forgive you? That I would love still after what you did? Because I don't and I never will!" Aidan sighed.
"Come here." I stood and walked shakily towards him. He was still my best friend and kind of lover. He held out his arms and I went to him. We embraced. I knew this would be the last time, but at least we had a last time.
"I love you and that's why I have to..." he whispered. Suddenly I gasped and stumbled back. A knife's blade was protruding from my abdomen. Aidan's hand was bloody and he was crying. I took the handle of the knife and yanked it out. Blood poured from the wound and I was crying, but the most pain was in my heart and not the knife wound.
"Aidan," I choked, blood clotting up my throat, "Aidan-w-why?" He crying harder and he fell to his knees. I fell to the ground and faced the sky. The stars were visible tonight, unlike any other night. I choked, then the world went dark as my head flopped over to the side. My last sight, Aidan standing with his bloody hands, falling to his knees.
"Why...?" -
Cheap Cigarettes
Spoiler
The pack cost no small fortune, but I didn’t mind. Death is pricey. And Annie would’ve paid for it, anyhow. Annie always does.
The broad behind the counter rang the register, handing me a nickel. She said, “Thank you for shopping at 7 Eleven,” and I couldn’t stop from staring at the visible light spectrum streaking down her head. She must’ve thought I was looking down her shirt, because the smile on her face begun to fade, her eyebrows twitching in annoyance.
“Can I get a lighter?” I asked, hoping to apologize for misinterpreted behavior. The silver lighter I’d stolen from Annie’s drawer burned in my coat pockets. “Sorry. I threw mine out a while ago, didn’t think I’d need it.”
The Rainbow softened slightly, looking more understanding. “Stressful times?” She reached down to the section below the counter, pulling out a plastic lighter.
I nodded. Smiled. “Yeah,” I took out Annie’s wallet again.
“You know, my brother’s trying to quit, too,” she said, casually, sounding at the very least concerned. “He could recommend you to a Nicotine Anonymous meeting, if you’d like.”
“How nice,” I laid down a couple dollar bills. “But I think I’ll do fine on my own.”
The Rainbow nodded, cashing it in again and handing scrap paper. “Suit yourself, bud,” she said, and I had to stop myself from smiling when she said ‘bud’ to a man at least two decades older than her. “But in case you’re tempted, just remember: There’s no such thing as a cheap cigarette.”
“No,” I said. “Not with these tax rates.”
The fluorescent lights shone out from the 7/11 and into the parking lot, a bell ringing above my head. My car was the only one in the lot. It was a classic model of Mercedes Benz, one of our father’s material obsessions before he inevitably quacked. Annie was supposed to take it, of course. It didn’t matter if she wanted it or not, Annie was supposed to take everything. Annie always did.
I opened the door to the car, dangling a cigarette between my lips. Dropping into the drivers’ seat, I lit it with Annie’s cigarette, somewhat wary of the gasoline tanks in the passenger seat. Annie lay against the back seat, and like the daddy’s girl she is, she’s wearing our father’s favorite designer suit. I don’t remember my father’s favorite designers, only alcoholic beverages and drugs he’d call ‘uncultured’. I have no doubt Annie remembered them, but I can’t quiz her on that. Not now.
“Hope I didn’t make you wait too long,” I chuckled, looking through the rearview mirror. If I squinted, maybe I could pretend the red rolling down her chin was smeared lipstick. “I know you’re not used to waiting. That’s my thing, isn’t it?”
Quiet.
“You always come first, after all.” I considered my cigarette, talking to the cloud of smoke slipping from my mouth. “First to be birthed. First to be hugged by daddy. First on the roller coasters. First in ranking. First to get a car. First to take control of the company and the money after dad goes.” I rolled down the window. “First to die.”
Crickets. Humming neon.
“The only first I get to be is the first to get a kid,” I laughed, bitterly. “And even then, my family comes second to you. Always you.”
You could almost mistake her paleness for guilt. Shame. I wished she was ashamed. I wished she had the right to be ashamed. In that brief moment, I wished, with all the power my poisoned lungs could give me, that she was wrong. Just that once. Just that once, I didn’t want to be the bad guy. Just that once, I didn’t want to be the black sheep of the family, the legendary kid who crashed his dad’s Lamborghini while high on crack, the boy who impregnated a girl at 16. Just that once, I wanted the full Law & Order drama treatment; I wanted to be the heroic suspect who killed his evil sister for wrongly draining their father of their money. I wanted to be the sympathetic suspect who killed his sister for refusing to give him the money necessary to cure his kid of cancer. I wanted to be gray. I wanted to be understood. I didn’t want to be the asshole.
But my kid doesn’t have cancer. I could’ve gotten the fair share of my dad’s dough, if I wasn’t such an idiot and practically wrote myself out of the will. And my sister, my sister kept my dad’s company alive. She was his legacy. She always was.
I started the engine, my cigarette between my index and middle finger.
I drove. I drove and drove, until the asphalt melted into sand dunes and I was immersed into the Nevada night sky. The desert was vast, endless. Desperate. Cold, but I can’t imagine for long.
I dragged Annie out of the backseat, dumping her onto the sand. It almost hurt me, watching as the gasoline wetted her hair—it reminded me of our mom. Of all the broken promises she’d made, all the things I was supposed to have that eventually went to Annie. And then her suit came into sight, and I imagined I was soaking my dad instead, his judging and pretentious complexion wincing in pain.
I flicked on the plastic lighter, tossing it onto the Frankenstein monster of everything I loved and despised. Watching, as all of my childhood went up in flames. Imagining. Fantasizing. The money I would inherit, if I got away with it. The fortunes and opportunities I would acquire, the future I would grant Jimmy, the disappointment I won’t be to my wife—
And then, I remembered Annie.
Always Annie. Always the girl who taught me how to play strip poker when we were ten. Always the girl who sneaked out of her bedroom to mine, just so she could repeat bedtime stories dad couldn’t bother telling me. Always the girl who told me she knows she’ll see my name on newspapers, someday. Always the girl who burned all the newspapers after I crashed the Lamborghini, telling me journalism sucks anyway. Always the girl who taught me how to change Jimmy’s diapers whenever my wife wasn’t around. Always the girl who told me, years after we both knew I had no chance, that I was still something to her. Always the girl who tossed me Camels when my wife wasn’t looking. Only once, the woman who refused to pay my debts while we smoked cheap cigarettes, screaming about the failure she’d told herself I wasn’t.
She couldn’t wait for me to think of Jimmy. She couldn’t wait for me to think of my new future. Even in death, she’s still the first thing on my mind. Even in death, she’s still the only reason why I had clutched my head and screamed to the smoke floating up into the heavens, echoing out into the dark. -
1,439 words, written in a couple of hours. I have no idea how I found the time and managed to create an entire story with it, but I did, and I'm proud of it.
Spoiler
Have the Body of Evidence
Were it not for the pillar of smoke cascading into the sky, one could argue that the city was entirely quiet and peaceful that night. The brazen fire alarms clanging down past streets, chasing beggars into alleys and forcing windows shut, brought unwelcome clarity to the reality of the situation, though nobody could quite suspect what exactly had happened. They could not comprehend the rumors that a prestigious building had caught on fire, though even the mayor was likely scrambling to find his spectacles and see in the harsh nighttime air. Perhaps those most concerned were the two individuals leaning over the balcony on the obscenely tall tower poised by the center of the city. But not for anyone else’s reasons.
A puff of smoke washed Leopold’s face, causing his blonde hair to recoil in disgust. His nose wrinkled as he waved it aside. “You know I don’t like that,” he said scornfully. Leaning by the cobblestone and metal railing, which felt cold to the touch, his impeccably clean and composed face, combined with his elegant, if a tad dated, suit, seemed to cast a shadow over the entire city. From beyond the windows and door leading into the building, candle light cast waving and eerie shadows out of the formerly active lightbulbs and gargoyle structures, as well as their perches, all dancing across the duo as though possessed by some mad force. The impromptu party was in full swing.
“Don’t be so silly,” replied his dark-haired ally, the cigarette smoking waving about her face giving her the impression of blending into misty shadows. Her face had been withered and worn with age and poor healthy, and yellow teeth flashed occasionally as she sucked it and puffed out cigarette smoke. She seemed far older than she actually was, sagging against the railing and coughing heavily before continuing. “If that’s the least of your concerns,” she said, drawing in a breath and puckering her mouth in a condescending, disgusted fashion, “You’re either brilliantly calm and confident, or a daft idiot who cares more about his own looks than his elaborate plans.” Coughing again, she managed to splutter out, in a mildly threatening, but raspy, voice “in which case, I may as well shoot you off this building.”
“One must keep himself well-kept,” replied the man, almost hovering over his hunched-over companion in his firm, steely expression. “And you know you can’t let me go, now that you have some blood on your hands.”
“You’d better hope it won’t be yours,” snapped the lady, before breaking into a fit of coughing. Her once-green, now an ugly shade of green and brown, bloomers were stained with ash and slash marks, as was the puffy, blue dress she’d partially stuffed into the said pants. Worn white gloves clasped a lighter as she tossed her cigarette from the edge of the building and pulled another from a pocket. Only her hair, tied up in a bun at the back of her head, saw any indication of anything beyond neglect. She looked like a formerly beautiful princess fallen from grace, and certainly a poor figure to observe.
“Matilda, I’m your public relations manager, remember?” calmly noted Leopold with the least amount of sarcasm. “You would stand nowhere without me, particularly not when your schemes are mine. I’ve already drafted them within my office, and they’re ready to be printed and delivered to the newspapers at my nearest convenience. Face it, I’ve won; you cannot dare challenge me. I pursue this out of my own interests, and I can just as easily revoke them.”
“Then how is it that you didn’t have the guts or cunning to create this?” Matilda laughed, coughing ferociously as she stood straight and spread her arms over the city, illustrating the absolute darkness that consumed it, as well as the flames that flickered at the edge of their vision in the midst of the column of smoke spiraling ever higher. Fire sirens sung a dismal and dreary chorus as they, like a marching band, proceeded in all directions towards the object of their interest, crooning for the spirits of the night and the waves to drive the flames away. All those wise enough to avoid being trampled by their discordant melodies were trapped within their homes, hoisting candles behind closed curtains to keep themselves from falling into primal fear. Leopold took a step away from Matilda in horror, though she took immense pride in the madness that she, as the conductor, had manufactured. It seemed as though her eyes, even her whole appearance, was now consumed by the red fire and smoke that danced about her, illuminated by the continuous stream of candle fire from the building behind them.
“You threw him away,” he shot back in anger, evidently growing more frustrated, and perhaps even terrified. His top hat fell loudly upon the ground, and his green eyes seemed to turn misty gray in the silence and darkness. “A human life, just your pawn to dispose of.”
She shrugged, descending into yet another coughing fit as she resumed her slumped position with a wide grin on her face. “I find it cute that you consider me the villain now. He knew full well the risks of what he was getting himself into. My agents can now use the distraction well, and our greatest objective is on the cusp of being completed. If he had to burn for it, I would have sent him to burn a thousand times.”
“He had a family!” Leopold yelled in frustration, brandishing a gold-tipped cane and holding it in his hands like a club. “He didn’t know what he was doing! You beguiled him into shoving aside his fellow officers to be shot! The man fell for your ruse, believed he was actually doing good by hiring you and your “detectives” to fortify the strength of the town’s power generators.”
“Then let it be his fault for being so stupid,” Matilda laughed in bitterness, throwing yet another cigarette off of the building. Drawing in a long, shaky breath, she pulled another to her lips in a trembling motion, the lighter quivering in her hand as it lit the cigarette. Breathing in and puffing out the smoke, she continued. “I have taken more risks than you could possibly imagine to get to this point. His was not the first life, and I doubt it will be the last. You thought you could win by frolicking with and bribing the politicians, and playing their elaborate games.”
With a swift movement, the white-knuckled Leopold raised his cane over his head. Sweating, face completely white, it was clear that he’d lost his temper, and, with it, all of his trust. He shouted, “You have come here to a win a war. And to win that war, you need authority! If you’re too stupid, too daft to realize that, I’ll just have to do it for you. Goodbye, Matil-”
Matilda was faster than her former ally. Yanking a pistol from her dress, she fired several shots in order into Leopold in a quick, ferocious gesture. The man collapsed almost at once, a horrified expression stuck on his face, staring down at the bullets in his chest. Blood running over his black suit, the light fading from his eyes, he didn’t have time to whisper another word before he catapulted from the railing, falling far down to the ground below, his cane clanging against the side of the building as his body plummeted.
The lady, standing straight, drew her lips into a frown, peering over the edge to watch his rapidly receding figure, which vanished into the darkness. Throwing the pistol down with him, as well as the cigarette and lighter, she finally answered his threat. “It was not your fight to win, Leopold. I’m ashamed that you could fall for petty makeup and a false demeanor. You were a nice pawn – one of the best, I think.”
Walking back towards the building, she finished. “You thought you had control of the chessboard, and you weren’t entirely wrong. The pieces you had will be in disarray now. Yet you were the bishop, and I the queen. Your plans were meaningful to only yourself, and now they will burn, along with this city’s power.”
She winced as she heard the audible sound of a body striking stone. “Fare thee well,” Matilda said with a dramatic flourish and bow, before opening the door and joining the procession of candle lights and their wielders as they frantically clambered and scrambled through the darkness. -
Finally done! I hope I'm not to late. If I am, would you mind giving it a read anyhow? Thanks!
The True Monster -
Hey Eternity. Firstly, I don't know if this is on time, because I'm guessing your time zone is different to mine. Secondly, this work probably should have a slight trigger warning, just to warn you. I don't know if that disqualifies it or not - but if it does, then I totally get it. Anyway, here's my entry to the competition.
Spoiler
He’s usually quick enough to lose them. Usually.
Their vicious, gawking footsteps echo off of the walls of the alleyway he’d slipped down. They track like hunters after a particularity scrawny coyote, stumbling into bins and unspeakable messes on the ground.
Apparently it isn’t enough to make his life a misery at school. No, they hadn’t been satisfied with their other ploys - name-calling, pushing, stealing, kicking him out of the boys’ bathrooms. During the past week, they’d taken to following him after school. But he’s a fast learner - until now, he’d been able to lose them.
He scrambles forwards, his heart in his throat. They’re there. They’re coming. Their raucous laughter and their taunts carry on the wind as they catch up. It spurs him onwards over the gutter, staggering faster and faster before he falls into a dead end, snapping around like a snared rabbit.
The hunters parade out of the shadows of the steep, graffitied walls. Each drag of their cigarettes turn them into fire-breathing dragons. Foul, acrid smoke drifts toward him. The hunter-boys loom nightmarishly out of the fuzzy grey. They leer horribly.
“No... C’mon, guys...” he backs up against the wall, his eyes searching like too and fro for something - anything - to let him escape. This time, there was nothing.
The leader, the straw-haired, muddy-eyed boy, pounces. The leader grabs his collar. He knows not to flinch. He stares blankly and focuses on the cold twists of adrenaline in his stomach. They worsen with every shake of the hunter’s fist.
“What’re you going to do, huh? When are you going to stop lying, huh?” the hunter growls, bringing its face too close. It exhales. Disgusting, warm tobacco smoke tumbles over his face. Behind the hunter, they start to jeer, a dissonant chorus of liar, girl, and freak.
He retches and chokes on the smoke, coughing up something miserable onto the leader’s face. It recoils, and the chants stop and make way for the growling of five hungry, man-eating dragons.
“I’m-”
Darkness.
-AnarchyWolf
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