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CONTEST ENDED – Thank you for submitting your stories!

Write from the POV of a character in a story who keeps getting re-written by their second-guessing author.

Posted in Short Story on Aug 30, 2024

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✍️ 92 stories

“Spy Who Came Out of the Temperate Weather (With 90 Percent Chance of Precipitation)” by George Georgerfrost@gmail.com

Submitted to Contest #266

Let me introduce myself. Zing! I am Special Agent Rex Roget. Bazing! I am in the middle of a shootout with enemy agents. Baringa! This is my fifty-ninth case in which I somehow manage to solve the problem without getting my head blown off.   Crrumpa!  I do not know what they were thinking when they invented that last onomatopoeia. Chabunka! Or that one. Anyway, my name is famous and often mispronounced which really makes me angry.  Roget, like the Thesaurus which makes my name easy to pronounce.  Right?  Argh, i...

8 comments 8
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“The Ultimate Script” by Joe Smallwood

Submitted to Contest #266

"If the voices in your head had any say, any say in the matter at all, how would they account for themselves?"One voice to another. Not quite fair. A fair question would begin with "Who is speaking?"Wouldn't they?I'm not quite with it yet. I'll let you know."But it isn't only a matter of perspective. Or you would be able to answer."Who are you?Answer who are you. Do it!"I said, I would let you know."Rubbish. I turn in and there is more than I can take in. Dreams that are neither here nor there. I wake up thinking I know what is what. What a ...

10 comments 10
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“George” by McKade Kerr

Submitted to Contest #266

Hello, my name is John. No wait, it’s Gerald. Oh, goodness no. It’s actually George. Yeah, that’s right. George… Smith. No, George Brown. George Williams? George Johnson perhaps. Nope, just George. I have no need for a last name. At least not yet I suppose. So, my name is just George. For right now. I’m very tall. Nope, average. Actually, a little on the short side. That’s too bad. And I have blue eyes. Nope, brown eyes. And I’m incredibly attractive. Wait, oh goodness, please don’t change that one. Welp, turns out I’m actually unattractive....

13 comments 13
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“Gumshoe” by Malcolm Twigg

Submitted to Contest #266

The broad who walks into the joint isn’t much to look at, but there’s something about her that demands attention. Maybe it’s the ‘45 in her hand. It’s still smoking. And the way her hand is trembling makes everyone in the bar duck. Well, I say everyone. There’s just me and the barkeep. And then there’s just me and the broad, because the barkeep disappears and don’t come back. So, I gingerly take the piece out of the broad’s hand, because from her appearance there’s likely no way she’s going to use it again, except by accident. In all my year...

10 comments 10
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“The Halls of Meh” by Rebecca Hurst

Submitted to Contest #266

Every profession has its own Valhalla. The cops and the firefighters have clubbable halls, where there is much back-slapping and drinking. A lot of reminiscing. Eventually, these people will fade into oblivion, but their full stop is gentle. It’s pleasing. There is no heaven or hell, but purgatory is cosmically vast. The rules, however, are earth-bound in their petty-mindedness. Supermarket workers have an enormous, well-stocked hypermarket where they enjoy a permanent tea break. Lawyers engage in endl...

8 comments 8
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“The Creator's Cure” by Amanda Wisdom

Submitted to Contest #266

Dear Cynthia,I want to write something with you again. I still love to write and I know you do too. We had so much fun. We still can. What do you say? I want to call it, The Cousin’s Cure, because I think we can help each other. Creating can be a very personal thing, and I want to share it with someone who will understand. I know you will. I’m curious to see where this road will take us. Maybe back to one another. Maybe we can be best friends again. God knows I miss you. I miss you more than words can say. Write me soon.&...

1 comment 1
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“Anticosti Antagonist” by David Ader

Submitted to Contest #266

“Gosselin rose again. It was more of a struggle now. His feet would have felt like blocks of ice if he could feel them at all. His legs as heavy as tree trunks. Those thick wool pants nearly froze through. Still, he soldiered on, lifting one leg from the slush, then the other, then plunging ahead. Plunging to the shore, the edge of the ice.” What does he know about the cold? Yes, my feet are cold. And my hands. And my head. Everything. You get used to it. It’s winter in bloody Labrador!  “He fell again. It must have been the tenth time ...

2 comments 2
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“Version Control” by Kael Mans

Submitted to Contest #266

Coffee sounds great, Callie thought, getting ready to leave. Looking up at the clock, she saw she had more than enough time to stop at her favorite coffee stand before going in to work at the community center. Wallet, phone, keys. She patted each pocket as she went through her mental checklist before heading out the door—Coffee sounds great, Callie thought, pulling a thick pink sweater from her closet. The fall weather had turned to a wintery chill so quickly this year, a hot drink would be perfect on her walk to work. Any excuse f...

4 comments 4
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“That's Your Title?” by Timothy Crehan

Submitted to Contest #266

“Mr. Reilly, don’t you find some of the Irish stereotypes to be problematic?” The question had come out of left field. We were analyzing the opening scenes of Dead Poets Society. Did Brianna think the bagpipes were Irish? Was that the segue?“Um, bit of a tangent there, but okay. Such as?” I’ve become adept at hiding my exhaustion with this type of participation. I don’t mind the question–not at all–but these high school students oscillate between no comment and ‘Hey, I just had this random thought I’d like to share, apropos of nothing.’Brian...

4 comments 4
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“The Red Block Numbers” by Mike Spotten

Submitted to Contest #266

I hate waking up. Every time I open my eyes I curse my maker that he (or she) didn’t decide that the best thing they could do for me is write me an exquisite death scene. Hell, at this point I’d take a drab death scene.  Bernard drowned in his tub. The end.  That’s me, Bernard. Is that the kind of ending that any of us really hopes for? Of course not. The only thing more embarrassing than drowning in the tub is dying on the toilet, Elvis style. But at this point, I’d take it even with clichéd lip curl and “uh-huh-huh,” that I know ...

2 comments 2
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“Will they listen?” by Laura Camacho Frias

Submitted to Contest #266

I was blond, as she is. My mother molded me into her girl's image: hair, eyes, and smile. I was a photograph of her daughter and lived my life in her pages. For months, I grew up in her mind, even if my experiences in her novel were limited to a week, which is not much for such an interesting character as I was. I was no regular thirteen-year-old girl living a happy, boring life, nor a conflicted teenager, and still, kids worldwide would see themselves in me. That was the plan. My life was not happy at first. I had argued with my father and ...

8 comments 8
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“You’re only a reflection of the author” by Fletcher Fox

Submitted to Contest #266

Being a fictional character has some challenges. Not nearly as many challenges as being a living breathing human being who uses the bathroom (no, luckily most fiction fails to include that bodily function unless it’s relevant to the narrative), but some challenges. Sometimes your name will be changed, or even if you’re written as a ‘you’ or in the third person, or even your entire character can be rewritten, trading a motivation that once ruled your every action for a more general goal or simpler emotion, or, more often, the change occurs th...

1 comment 1
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“Take #4” by Marie Nolan

Submitted to Contest #266

** Story contains some suggestive sexual innuendo **My fingers lazily trailed down Vanessa’s arm. My dark brown eyes maintained steady eye contact with her bright blue ones as my fingers lazily stroked the inside of her wrist. I heard an involuntarily shudder and moan escape from her parted lips. With increaseing confidence, I moved my fingers to her hip. I let my fingers linger there for a bit, waiting for unspoken permission to delve further downward. “Plesse, Jake… don’t stop,” whispered Vanessa. Her body had told me that I could proceed,...

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“The Inadvertent Spy” by Phil Browne

Submitted to Contest #266

I didn’t ask to be born, but who does? I feel my situation is unique though. More created than born. I have name. I had a different one an hour ago. I go from place to place and travel back and forth through time. I never seem to stay in one place for very long. I have to believe that if he can just finish a story, I will finally be anchored to a home. A place where I can rest. Who’s he, you ask? The dummy on the other end of the keyboard? I don’t even know. I can tell you he has big ambitions to be a big-shot writer. I can also say with con...

2 comments 2
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“I don't find your sick sense of humor amusing...” by Jeff Meade

Submitted to Contest #266

Chloro Phil was in big trouble. He had traveled south from his adopted community at Chama in search of someone named “Maxwell.” The boy, still unidentified as far as Phil knew, was, as far as Phil knew, still in a coma. The boy had whimpered “Maxwell needs help,” and Chama’s Council of Elders had decided to send Phil to follow the scrap of paper the boy had in his pocket. This scrap of paper had a line drawn on it, like a map, with three X’s marking locations. One of the X’s was circled, and Phil had discovered that it was an abandoned campg...

5 comments 5
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