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Write a story about a character who finds a childhood toy that brings back memories.

Posted in Character on Jul 21, 2023

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✍️ 70 stories

The Adventures of Jack and Celine

Submitted to Contest #208

Content warning: bugs, fire, darkness. Not for the first time in his life, Jack’s Sunday afternoon was saved by vintage pornography. There was a magazine in the dusty antique store, full of printed reproductions of saucy sepia scandals, and he flipped through with a schoolyard grin. “Oh my god!” said Lisa. “Don’t look at that, you jerk!” “Hey, you dragged me out to this dump, so don’t complain. And I ain’t jerking anything. Yet.” Lisa rolled her eyes and made that don’t-be-gross groan. Or maybe it was the don’t-embarrass-me-in-public one? ...

28 likes 35 comments 35
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Going once, going twice...

Submitted to Contest #208

Fantasy, stories and tall tales, none of it is to be believed. Remember that boy. It's all lies.The words of Grant's father circled his mind like a vulture gnawing away at his confidence. Had he let his grandfather's bedtime stories rot his mind? Maybe. Was he trapped in a childish mindset? Probably. But what harm could come of it? He unrolled the auction house's catalogue one more time, his thumb still lodged in the desired page. Lot number 187: An original brown 1904 Steiff teddy bear, previously owned by…Grant only ever knew him by the na...

23 likes 34 comments 34
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I Will Not Eat My Heart Alone

Submitted to Contest #208

Rain falls on his new skin. He feels nothing.Under cover of the night, he, Isaac Newton, sixty-three years of age in this the Year of the Lord 1706, arrives alone at Woolsthorpe, returning to the old two-story farmhouse where he grew up. In one hand he carries a lit lanthorn, in the other a large bag.He calls back a memory, his earliest, one he did not even know he had, until it is there, sudden, sharp, as if he is transported back into the moment and … he can smell the manure, see the sheep-shearing dust in the air. He is three years o...

20 likes 33 comments 33
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Times Have Changed

Submitted to Contest #208

It’s been almost a year, and I still can’t believe she’s gone. We knew it was coming, but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with when it happens. Almost everything is settled; the will was probated, her clothing and kitchen items have been donated, there’s a truck coming to pick up the few furnishings that are left, and the house just went under contract a few days ago. It’s time to clean out the few things that are left and throw them in the trash before the new owners close and move in. I look around the bedroom and s...

20 likes 5 comments 5
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Booba at Barbenheimer

Submitted to Contest #208

Booba looked down on the ridiculous blue planet below. He had parked The Hand Of God on the far side of their moon and was keeping a low profile until he decided what to do. The persistent ache in his 7th knee was bothering him, and this planet's resemblance to the one responsible for flinging the antimatter torpedo at his starship during the Battle of Lookai intensified that ache.He knew this world wasn't capable of tossing anything like that at his ship. So, it was safe to linger. He should probably be doing more important things, but mayb...

18 likes 34 comments 34
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Dad's Doll

Submitted to Contest #208

“Stella! For the love of God, girl. How many times do I have to tell you to get the boxes from the attic? We promised your uncle that we would donate your old toys and clothes to his charity.” Stella glares at the stairs leading downstairs and mutters, “I never promised that. And why does it have to be my stuff? Why not Dustin’s?” “I heard that, young lady.” “Well, then, why aren’t we donating some of Dustin’s stuff?” “Your brother wants to give his old toys to the baby. You know that.” “So, what? My stuff isn’t good enough to be handed ...

17 likes 2 comments 2
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Fred

Submitted to Contest #208

On the brink of adolescence, I made the decision to part ways with the things that represented my childhood. Not because I wanted to, but frankly it was because I did not want to be teased and ridiculed. I was a collector. By collector I mean hoarder of all things childish – toys, books, music. I believed that all toys, even my pillows and blankets, had emotions. To discard them, give them away, or not play with them would hurt their feelings. But the day came to put aside childish things and thoughts and continue along the path to adulthood...

15 likes 8 comments 8
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Writer's Block

Submitted to Contest #208

Barbara, a gifted storyteller, called the picturesque town of Highink her home. Nestled among rolling hills and lush forests, the town boasted towering trees that seemed to whisper tales of a bygone era. From the depths of her creative abyss, Barbara conjured characters, breathing life into seemingly lifeless words on her journal's pages.Highink's citizens were captivated by her grand tales, immersing themselves in the enchanting worlds she wove. However, even this master storyteller grappled with a formidable foe familiar to many writers: w...

14 likes 5 comments 5
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All The Versions of Herself

Submitted to Contest #208

A single tear made its way down her cheek, melting into her skin, as the sun warmed the sky behind her eyes. Amelia had forgotten what it was like to feel. She had perhaps even forgotten herself altogether. A knock on the door brought her back to reality. Well, what she thought was reality anyway. “Almost done in here, hon? We still got the whole attic to clear out before closing next week,” There’s really no seamless way to bounce back from being tossed into a life-altering, soul-touching moment, but she did her best. “Yeah,” Amelia s...

13 likes 6 comments 6
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Round the World

Submitted to Contest #208

I listen to the audio in my head. “All is new. All is bright. May you have dreams of newness tonight.” It’s the constant loop from the State NEW Agency. Nation’s Eternal Watch.  Is this America anymore? It’s hard to tell. We have had so many different names since the revolution. And each time we reset history. I vaguely remember a few fragments of the old history. There was the Civil War of 1945. We declared independence from French Guiana in 1812. The Assyrians gave us culture and literature and democracy, whatever that is...

13 likes 2 comments 2
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Fifteen Boxes

Submitted to Contest #208

There is a theory about people who are uprooted at an early age and continue to wander around the world in search of their roots. Nothing feels like home to them, so they move from place to place eager to happen upon that one spot that feels comfortably familiar where they can finally pause to take a breather, maybe look around for the first time in years to realize that another world exists around their internal universe. I can attest to this being true. For the last twenty-eight years, I moved approximately thirty times. Yep, it means tha...

11 likes 4 comments 4
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Visit to the British Museum

Submitted to Contest #208

(Note: Contains Mild Language)My grandfather had two outfits. One was a kurta-pajama, a traditional Indian outfit that he wore at home, and the other, for outdoors, was formal attire consisting of a shirt tucked into a pair of pants bound by a leather belt, along with polished black shoes. Whether it was a morning walk, or sightseeing, or anything that even briefly involved the outdoors, the formal attire took over.Two years ago, he, along with my parents, visited me in London, where I had been studying for a year. After that trip, he never ...

10 likes 0 comments 0
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Rain Bear

Submitted to Contest #208

Rain fell in torrents against the small countryside house as Gladys shuffled around her kitchen. She took a tarnished kettle from her old stovetop and filled it at a nearby sink.“Gramma!” Her arms shook as she held the kettle. Fingers that carefully gripped its worn handle were wrinkled and spotted, her knuckles bulging under the skin despite efforts to calm the ever-growing arthritis. Gladys sighed, replacing the kettle on her stove. “Gramma!” The voice yelled again, this time louder. It came from the ceiling. Gladys winced. ...

9 likes 0 comments 0
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A Melody of Love

Submitted to Contest #208

      It was finally Monday, June 15th, the day of Sarah’s mother’s funeral. The thought of burying her beloved mother in the cold ground was something Sarah could never accept. She wasn’t ready. She never would be. The grief of her mother’s death was tearing Sarah apart; its heavy weight stopping her from letting go. It was too unbearable for her to part with her mother. But deep down, Sarah knew that it had to be done. She desperately hung onto the memories of their times together as tears flew down her cheeks...

9 likes 4 comments 4
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Stuck in a Smile

Submitted to Contest #208

I’ve heard when a doll looks just like you, there’s a small chance the doll becomes you, and you become the doll. Only if the hair is the same, the color of the skin, the expression on the face. If everything matches, and you pose next to your doll just how they’re posed, in their colorful outfits, you might become plastic. That’s why I got my doll when I was a child. I wanted to become plastic. How wonderful a thought, it appeared to me, that I might be stuck forever in a wonderful smile. That’s why I purchased a happy doll, with a short ...

9 likes 0 comments 0
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